Shadowheart
by Lucrece01
Summary: "What do you want from me?" he whispered, running his fingers down her back—she shuddered violently, recklessly at the pooling streams of wanton ecstasy—her shoulders snapped backwards and she grabbed his collar for support. Her skin felt thin and raw—she clawed at him, her jagged curls dismembering the air around them—she convulsed against him and breathed, "Absolution."
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1.**

* * *

"I wasn't quite as desperate as that." She smiled in derision, throwing back her bushy curls as she stood up and walked over to the window.

She pouted and looked outside.

The handsome boy scrutinised her face silently, his eyes giving nothing away as he watched her movements.

"But it was," he countered. She turned to him, her hands folded across her chest and she tilted her head to the side. "You were almost on the verge of… _begging_ in the streets."

It was dark outside.

A single lantern hung by the damp ceiling. The wallpaper, frayed and disappearing in places, made the soft summer evening look bleak.

"Be that as it may, Tom… I see no reason for us to discuss this further," she replied.

An oblique smile crawled over the boy's lips as he watched her intently and nodded slightly, acquiescing for the time being.

"If it bothers you so, I shall not refer to it again…" He looked to his right and stared at the cupboard in her room. "I shall, however, require your word that you trust me, Hermione. I have had to construct an extended veil of lies just so that Mrs Cole would accept you here. It greatly saddens me to see that someone I consider a friend does not believe me."

Hermione bit her lip and looked down at her shoes.

"It's not that I don't trust you, Tom… even though I have known you for a short while—two weeks at most…" She shook her head. "I just… I don't know, okay. I don't have answers to your questions. I simply don't. I don't know where I came from. I don't know who or what my parents were or what I did for the last sixteen-seventeen years of my life… It's just… It's driving me to the brink of insanity, alright… I would rather not think about it all…"

She ran a shaking hand through her hair, disentangling the bushy mane as much as she could in repeated motions but to no avail.

Meanwhile, the boy had started scratching the paint off her iron-framed bed. The strange, squeaky sound of nails running hard over iron echoed off the walls in that sparsely furnished room.

"Stop that!"

She had squeezed her eyes shut.

His silvery eyes flickered towards her.

"If it bothers you," he remarked casually and stood up, ready to leave. "I'll call you for dinner?"

She nodded slightly, wiping the sweat off her face and sighed.

"If you must."

* * *

"Tell that story again, Lily," Clara, a blue -eyed fifteen year old with curly blonde hair goaded. "Tell Mark what you did to Jim."

Hermione ate her soup in silence.

Beside her, two six year old twins were arguing over who had a bigger nose. They were rather adorable, with identical freckled faces and pointed noses.

Next to the twins sat surly Tim, eating quietly and not bothering to pay attention to the conversations around him. Lily and Clara sat across Hermione and next to them sat four people from the first floor. Hermione wasn't particularly well acquainted with them.

It was a table set for twelve people.

The cook had served the dinner and retired for the day. The washing of the dishes was left to the children.

The chatter quietened considerably as soon as the door that led to the hallway flew open and Tom entered. His eyes swept over the gathered crowd and he tilted his head in acknowledgement when he noticed Hermione.

She gave him a short smile, ignoring the pooling despair of non-identity in her heart and went back to her dinner.

He sat next to her and poured himself some soup.

"That's an odd ring," she remarked on noticing the ugly ring sitting on his finger.

His hands stilled.

Clara and Lily looked at him warily out of the corner of their eyes. Mark's jaw was set and he held his knife too fast.

"Is that so?" He took a sip out of his glass of water and turned to her. "I paid a great price for it, mind you."

Hermione snorted. "Someone obviously duped you then. It is the ugliest little thing I ever saw."

He stared at her for a few seconds before going back to his potatoes.

The rest of dinner was an unremarkable affair at the end of which Hermione got up to help Clara with the dishes. It was her turn that day.

"Where are you going?" Tom asked when she turned to leave.

"To do the dishes," she replied in confusion. "It's our turn today."

He blinked twice.

"Wait," he said and turned towards Mark. "You wouldn't mind, Mark, would you?"

Mark lowered his eyes, fixing them intently upon the end of his spoon and nodded slowly.

Hermione viewed this exchange with curiosity.

"I don't think it's fair that he has to do my chores, Tom… We could discuss whatever you want after I am done with work…" she interrupted.

His silver eyes met her brown.

"This cannot wait."

* * *

"It's cold out here," she remarked, drawing her arms around the middle and hugged herself close. He had led her out of the orphanage building, past the string of shops that graced the rundown neighbourhood. The cold prickled her exposed skin.

Tom walked on silently, paying little attention to most the things around them. His pale hands shone brightly in the hallowed moonlight. It was brief and strange but Hermione thought she heard him whisper something when he stopped near a trash can.

Something that sounded like a different language altogether.

Strange.

"Where are we going, Tom?"

He glanced at her briefly and turned his eyes towards the opposite lane.

"Down there," he pointed at a dilapidated, ancient looking building that might be a mill of sorts.

She rubbed her palms together once more and followed him to the crumbling wooden door.

"It's locked," she said, turning the thick iron lock over in her hands.

It was cold to touch.

He gave her a brief glance, void as his eyes were of any human emotion, and frowned.

"I know."

Gently clasping the said iron lock in his own hands, he whispered something incoherent.

 _Something_ …

The lock clicked open.

Hermione's eyes widened and she could not help the brief shudder that escaped her body.

 _What did he do?_

It was a thick, utilitarian lock.

He didn't break it.

 _How did he manoeuvre the inner mechanisms to open up?_

He flung open the doors and stepped inside softly.

As she had expected, it was ancient and full of musty smell. It was too dark to make out much but she could see huge lumps of deteriorating stocks piled here and there.

"Why are we here, Thomas?

Tom smiled crookedly and turned his finger to the closest pile of straws. A sudden flash of light and the pack lit up, engulfing her in warmth and light.

"I have… things to experiment with…" he said charmingly and gave her half a grin. "And you are part of it. A very important part."

That did not feel right.

" _How are you doing this, Tom?"_

It was his turn to smile now.

His teeth stood out grotesquely against the dark of his mouth.

"Watch," he whispered.

In slow motion, it seemed to her, he withdrew a pale stick from his pocket and snapped his fingers.

The building lit up—without any source of light—and she could see every nook and cranny exposed to her sight.

He flicked it again—the stick—and with a strange whoosh, blue-green strands of light flew away from the tip and began to circle the beam overhead.

They crinkled and spluttered for a few moments before bursting into showers of tiny stars that fell upon he ground, covering her and Tom in their dazzle.

She watched open-mouthed.

" _Fuck_ ," she whispered to herself as the light turned green and the beam turned to dust; the ceiling still held somehow. She looked at him in wonder and cursed again, " _Fuck_."

He snapped again—his pale fingers rather spidery—and everything vanished.

They stood in a cold, dusty mill once more; everything was normal again.

"Hold it." He offered her the pale stick. "Just this once."

His face looked so calm; this was either a very disgusting dream or a very real phenomenon.

After some initial hesitation, she did take the proffered object though.

She was too curious.

"I know you have questions; this demonstration was so that you would hold off your curiosity for now." The wood—it was made of _wood_ and not plastic—she thought she felt the organic texture rather deeply-it felt alive to her touch. "Do you trust me so far?"

She couldn't take her eyes off him—just this once, he looked so lovely and haunted at the same time—and just this once, she had to believe him.

She knew it.

She nodded imperceptibly.

"Okay." He pointed to a log of wood and withdrew to her side. "Aim and repeat after me: _Ignis_. It isn't hard. Focus _._ Let go of reason and repeat, while picturing a bright flame striking that log."

She must have been crazy.

The flickering shadows must have been playing with her mind.

She looked deep into his shining, silver eyes and turned.

" _Ignis_!"

* * *

The wind blew mercilessly, whipping bushy curls into her face now and then.

 _I know only my name._

She sat on a ledge, on the roof, her legs dangling dangerously into the space below.

Below her feet, London spluttered and smoked.

Awe.

So very deep.

"So it _is_ true, then?"

He had told her so much; the delightful stories of a different world—a different place, something more real and powerful than the world she currently knew—she was still trying to wrap her head around all of it, of course. But she believed him.

 _Why wouldn't she?_

There was no reason for disbelief. He had made her feel it—the raw, enticing power coursing through her veins and she had been ecstatic—it was real and very much a part of her. Even if it was unknown, it was real.

Thomas smoked in a corner, his eyes glittering with an unknown emotion as he watched her take in his revelations to her.

" _Truer than truth."_ He flicked and some ashes fell to the ground. "Unbelievable, isn't it?"

She snorted.

"Fucking amazing." She looked at her hands in wonder. His pale wand, the wand… "Have you always known?"

"That I was wizardkind? No. I learnt the truth at eleven. But I always knew that I was different—special in a way that most people weren't…" He tapped his foot to some unknown tune playing in the background—one of the orphanage inmates must have their window open.

"And I can do it, too… _Curious_." She shivered involuntarily. "I didn't find out at eleven years of age… this Hogwarts, all magical children go there, don't they? Why was I overlooked if I have the same abilities?" She shook here head in frustration. "Fuck, I wish I remembered my life."

"I don't know _why_ you were overlooked—there seems to be nothing wrong with your magic as far as I can tell—maybe… you didn't grow up here... on this continent—In any case, I do plan to have your memories checked as soon as I can. Perhaps i is a mild case of amnesia. It doesn't matter though, does it? We'll find out whatever there is to know and I can teach you everything you need."

She scowled at him.

Need.

It sounded like he would decide what she needed in her education.

She hadn't given him the permission to act as her guardian.

"Toss me a smoke, will you?"

"Sure."

She lit the thin, white object with much hardship; it tasted tangy on her tongue. She was only just getting the hang of it.

Being around Tom had its drawbacks.

" _What are you two doing up here_?" a loud voice called out from behind them.

 _Mark_?

She put out her stub hurriedly and climbed down.

"We were just… hanging out, Mark. What are _you_ doing here?" Thomas seemed unruffled. She noticed that he didn't even bother to put out his cigarette.

" _You two were smoking, weren't you_?" Mark accused, taking a step towards her. "It's against the rules. I will tell Mrs Cole."

She looked at Thomas quickly but he did nothing more than raise an elegant brow.

She swallowed. "Look, Mark…" she began but Thomas cut her off.

"I don't think so, buddy." His eyes flashed dangerously, almost feral and she was taken aback.

"What's that again?" Mark's voice was slightly high-pitched and she could tell that he was nervous.

 _God_.

"I don't think you will... tell her anything." Tom repeated casually and threw down his stub. "Why must you be so difficult? We are all friends here, looking out for each other... You don't want to be the black sheep of our white company, do you?"

His words sounded more threatening than persuasive; a sort of warning that one couldn't ignore.

Tom's tone had an oily ring to it; she was sure that you could slip on his words if you weren't careful.

"You know what, I think I _will_ this time." Mark drew up his shoulders and flashed her a resentful grin. "I have had enough of your high-handedness, Riddle and I think that I would be doing this orphanage a favour by aiding in your expulsion. And believe me, you _will_ be thrown out when I tell her that you and your tramp girlfriend have been smoking, on top of everything else that you've done so far. She has enough complaints against you to take it to the trustees."

 _Shite._

 _Fucking great_.

Without waiting for either of them to reply, Mark turned and ran towards the stairs.

Rather too quickly, it seemed to her.

"Shite! Stop him! We'll be in trouble, Tom," she hissed at Tom, grabbing his sleeve rather forcefully—he gave her an amused look and removed her hands from his person—his silver eyes flashed coldly in the direction that Mark took off.

"No, we won't, Hermione." He flicked his wrist and the pale—wand landed in his hand. Wordlessly, something flew from its tip and swooped down the dirty stairs. "We are _wizardkind_ , after all. There never is a need for us to chase… commoners, as they say."

A loud shriek sounded across the space—from down below, followed by a distinct thud—Hermione looked up at him, horrified.

 _Did he just…?_

No…

 _He wouldn't…_

Oh God.

* * *

Hey guys,

I have wanted to write an exclusive Tom Hermione fiction ever since I started reading them. For some reason, it never quite worked out. I really want this to be my best piece yet and I really really hope that I can pull it off. Now, I realise that I posted it under my other account but I have decided to not use it for publishing my stories anymore. So I am posting it here. Again.

Please review, it helps to know where I am going from your perspective and what I am doing wrong( and right).

Thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

* * *

 _What the...?_

Hermione looked at him in disbelief, her nerves tingling with hitherto unknown fear, and she rushed to the stairs.

Clutching the railing tightly, she peered down—an unmistakeable heap of human flesh lay crumpled on the ground, moaning and cursing as he nursed his twisted leg; he didn't look up or he would have seen her wide eyes and unruly curls dangling mid-air—she breathed a sigh of small relief and closed her eyes when she found out that he was okay.

He didn't seem badly hurt either.

It was a good thing that the stairs were separate from living quarters, nestled in the back of the building and so far, no one seemed to have taken notice of the commotion.

" _Shite_ ," she cursed again and looked at Tom; he stood with an indifferent air crawling about him, his face reflecting the pale moonlight under which they stood and for the moment, she thought he looked grotesque. "Why the hell did you do that? _What kind of a sick, twisted way is this of stopping someone?"_

He raised a nonchalant eyebrow at her words, as if he didn't understand her question at all.

Or he didn't care.

" _You know what,_ fuck with you! I'm going to see if he's alright." She turned to step down, escape the confines of open air and this awful creature in her vicinity—she had to help Mark.

Tom grabbed her upper arm, however, before she could leave and dragged her all the way to the back.

"No."

"Let go of me, Thomas," she bit out but he did not relent.

"You're not going to help him, Hermione." His voice was menacing; the syllables turned and twisted on his tongue and she got a vague feeling that it would not do to cross him. On the surface, however, his face was blank and poised. Only his eyes reflected a calm, burning storm of red and she almost shuddered. "I will take care of it, not you. You stay here and wait for me."

"I will not!" She pushed away his hand and stepped back. "You had _no right_ to hurt him, Thomas. He was defenceless... I'm going to help him and you can't stop me."

Thomas looked annoyed for a second but he backtracked.

"Didn't he say that he was going to report us? Didn't he say that he wanted to throw you out, Hermione?" He crossed his arms and fixed her with a glare. "How can side with a person who intended to harm your interests? Earnestly, if I might add."

What?

"What the hell kind of an argument is that!" she exclaimed. "So _what_ if he wanted to tell? _We were in the wrong!_ I don't have to like him to know that it is wrong to hurt a person the way you did."

He stared at her.

His silver eyes congealed and darkened into something unknown and frightening and she swallowed. The intensity of his gaze was baffling.

"He'll be okay."

"What?"

"I _said_ : he'll be fine. I'll take care of it."

"You're the one who hurt him."

"Again, I don't want to repeat myself. I have had enough of this." He turned and shook his head. "It was nothing more than a warning and he only has a twisted ankle. It isn't a big deal. Stay here."

When he put it like that, it sounded... alright, she supposed. And Mark had tried to tell on them. But still, it wasn't okay to do what he had done. And it was certainly not okay for Tom to use magic on a defenceless person, especially when the said person didn't even know about him.

"I'll come with you."

His back stiffened; he turned slightly and gave her an obliquely disapproving look, his lips pressing into a small line on his face. "Whatever."

* * *

"Stay away from me, you bastard!" Mark tried to aim a punch but it fell through thin air and missed Thomas who was trying to put an arm around his shoulder. " _You and your bitch... you did this, Riddle_. I know you too well. You fucking did this to me. Wait until I tell Mrs Cole. My ankle... it _hurts_."

She didn't like the abuse in Mark's words and a small part of her thought that he deserved the pain.

Where did he get off, calling her a bitch?

Hermione stayed back a step, watching Tom help the boy downstairs. She could only see their backs and not their faces but she shivered nevertheless.

"You're mistaken, buddy. I am only trying to help you," said Tom in a smooth, supple tone and Hermione almost believed his sincerity. "You tripped all by yourself. Hermione and I were mere witnesses, weren't we? And do stop badmouthing one of our own, would you? Mrs Cole wouldn't approve of such crass language."

"I was doing perfectly fine," Mark growled and tried to move away but Tom's grip was too strong; Hermione saw that his hold was firm and Mark didn't lose his footing one bit. "You're going to pay for this, Riddle...You and her..."

Hermione bristled at the comment; _she had taken this stupid boy's side_. She didn't particularly like him or anything but what was right was right. He was beginning to get on her nerves by now.

 _Maybe, Tom did the right thing,_ a snide voice in her mind whispered.

 _No, he didn't_ , she snapped at her mental rant.

They had reached the landing by then and Tom helped a limping Mark through the door while Hermione stood and watched.

"You stay here." He looked over his shoulder and found her eyes staring at him apprehensively. "This will only take a few minutes; I will help him to bed and then we can _chat_."

* * *

She bent her head against the flippant wind and trudged the empty streets. Her cloak, which Thomas had lent her the previous night, snapped at her feet playfully.

She had needed to clear her head after the events. It was sad, what Tom had done, but she wasn't too mad about it really. Mark was rather... unlikeable. And he had wanted to get her and Tom evicted.

But that wasn't her main concern.

The world around her seemed so surreal to her. There was a war going on, in the background, and London was on high alert these days. Any day, they could be bombed to death and no one would know. Or care.

This too didn't bother her much at the moment.

What really made her mind prick was the simple fact that she remembered nothing. Nothing. No faces. No names. No identities.

It was... hard.

 _Why couldn't she remember_ , she massaged her forehead with the back of her palm and gazed at the city lights. The streets were empty but it suited her just fine.

She had walked on for more than an hour, thinking. He dark lanes provided cover and she wasn't frightened by their grim appearance.

A few shops were open, as were a few pubs, and she was wondering if she should seek alcohol for .the night

She stood outside a pub; she knew she wasn't old enough to drink, hell; she didn't even have an identification. Besides, she wasn't sure she wanted to go inside.

She felt so alone and vulnerable.

"I told you to wait."

"God!" His voice startled her and she jumped; shaking her head and fixing him with a glare when she found out who it was. He stood behind her his arms crossed and a look of disapproval plastered across his handsome features. " _It's you."_

"Of course. Who else would it be?" The feigned innocence in his voice was too much, especially now, and she turned away from him, walking away as fast as she could in the opposite direction.

She turned the corner and looked back but he wasn't there.

She was surprised at that.

Where did he go?

"Oh don't walk away so fast." He was standing in front of her, with a smug smile plastered on his face; his eyes were glittering eerily. "We still have a lot to discuss."

"I have nothing to say to you, Thomas," she snapped and turned her face away. He was walking beside her, matching her fast footsteps. "Just leave me alone, okay."

"If I didn't know better, I'd think you were trying to get rid of me."

"Oh you got that right, alright." She rolled her eyes at him and crossed her arms. "I don't want to talk to you right now, okay. Just go away."

The alleyway in which they stood was deserted; his lean figure loomed over her and she had her back to the wall. She felt like a cornered animal but it didn't intimidate her or anything.

She still glared at his attempt to dominate her.

"But I want to talk." He placed an arm on the wall right next to her head; he was far too close, invading her personal space and she could smell that tangy scent of cheap cologne he used to wear—his grey eyes bore into her honey ones and she felt a sting course through her mind—his face was a veiled mask of politeness but his eye gave away everything. "I thought we were friends."

Puzzlement.

Determination.

And pride.

And something else... something far more sinister than ordinary dreams and goals of men.

"We are," she said with a dry throat. "But what you did was wrong."

He blinked, his eyes shutting down, and she was left staring into empty pools of silver orbs.

"If you say so. But I _reiterate_ , he was being particularly nasty." He placed another hand on the wall and she was trapped, her head effectively ensconced between his arms on either side and she had no option but to look up at him and keep looking. His face was closer, inches away from her nose and she could count the blackheads on his nose. "What would you have me do? Beg? _Plead_? Trust me, he is a scoundrel who knows nothing but the language of fear."

"Yeah, right," she scoffed. "Of course you would say _that_. You didn't have a reason to be equally nasty, then, if you're going to defend your behaviour in such flimsy ways."

"Oh I had a reason, alright," he drew back abruptly and shot her a wounded look. "You just can't _see_ it. But that's beside the point. I didn't chase you down three blocks so that you could give me lessons in morality. I'm actually here because I thought this might be a good time to teach you your first piece of magic."

That got her attention.

Magic.

"Magic?"

His lips curled slightly, a small sneer and a little humour, and he nodded.

"Mmm hmm. Unless of course, _you'd_ rather not. Maybe we could wait until your anger has mellowed."

He turned to walk away and Hermione knew it was all pretence but she still couldn't stop herself from calling out,

"No, wait." She shifted her weight to the other leg, biting her lip, and watched as Tom stopped, his back dimly visible to her in the faint light escaping the shuttered windows of the house overhead. "I want to learn now. Will you teach me?"

He looked over his shoulder and beckoned her forward with a small gesture of his fingers. "Of course. I take it that this means you are ready to return to our temporary... lodgings."

Hermione rolled her eyes at the ridiculous term he generally used to refer to the orphanage when around her. "Yes, yes."

* * *

It was the middle of night. Everyone had retired to their rooms and Hermione had only just finished washing up when Tom had walked in.

She hadn't checked on Mark, contrary to her intentions, and she wasn't sure that she wanted to. She didn't believe Tom one bit when he said that he had somehow persuaded Mark to keep quiet and that his foot was in a perfectly healed condition. But she guessed it didn't matter; Mark was fine and he would hold his tongue and she would not like to associate with him further if she could help it.

The boy had spewed profanities at her and tried to tell on her. She still considered Tom's actions rather too... aggressive but her annoyance with the boy got better of her sympathies. Besides, she was eager to learn more of the world that Tom had promised her.

He had promised her a new world.

They were huddled over a candle, the only lit up object in the room, and Hermione thought Tom's face looked vividly bright and striking in the golden light.

He was a very handsome boy.

"You don't have a wand yet," he began, his eyes focused on the flame. "We'll need to use your innate power... I'm going to teach you a simple spell, one that I learned as a child on my own, and it should be fairly easy for you to perform."

She nodded, her eyes fixed on his face as she took in every word he said and committed it to memory.

"Why can't I use your wand?"

Tom lifted his chin and his gaze flickered to her for a moment, a sort of... disapproval lingering in the corner of his eyes.

"It isn't proper for a wizard to let others use their wand, Hermione. Wands are very personal objects; they are an extension of your body in its physical form and your soul in the spiritual dimension. You let other people handle your wands only in cases of emergency. As you can see, neither case is applicable right now."

Hermione shrugged and pouted.

"And where do you get one from?'

Tom smiled briefly and focused on the candle once again. "They have shops. I'll take you there. Enough chit-chat, let's get back to work. Can you see this candle clearly?"

"Yes."

"Then remember it. Carve its image in your mind—feel the glow, the brightness and the warmth—I want you to surround the flame with your hands and close your eyes."

She did as he told. It was easier for her to focus now that everything was quiet.

"The incantation is ' _Flamma_.' Savour the words. Feel them. _Feel them_ , Hermione." His voice was closer to her left ear; Hermione realised in her blindness that he was whispering quietly in her ear.

"Focus. You're not focusing."

She licked her lower lip and breathed. "Sorry."

"You have to utter the word, feel the heat leave your hands and surround the candle. Your aim is to melt the wax with a simple heating charm. Can you do it?" he asked quietly; she could almost feel his lips brush her ears and she thought it tickled. But she was moving away from her object; she was supposed to be concentrating.

Her mind was a black screen—blank and devoid of any intrusions—she felt the scalding heat run across that black screen and directed it to her fingers.

She almost yelped at the burning sensation and opened her eyes in surprise. To her amazement, there was no candle on the table. A puddle of wax was the only thing she could construe byt the dim light emanating from Tom's wand.

 _She_ had done that?

Really?

"I—I did that?"

Her lips were parted in amazement and she thought Thomas smiled a little, a hint of amusement dancing in his silver eyes.

"Yes." He closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall, a brief frown marring his features. "Amazing?"

She met his eyes. "Amazing," she agreed.

"You should rest." He reached for the huge tangle of hair sitting atop her head and messed it a little. "Tomorrow will be a long day. I'll come by after breakfast and we can get you a wand."

With those words, he unfolded his legs and stretched out his arms, ready to retire for the evening. Before he closed the door behind her though, he turned briefly and said, "You did well. There aren't many—very few, in fact—who could have pulled it off in the first go without a wand. I have no doubt that your abilities are exceptional. I'm glad I found you."

Hermione could only smile uncertainly in her reply.

* * *

"You'll need to put this on." He offered her something huge and black, something that looked like a cape.

"A cape?" she asked in confusion, accepting the proffered item. "Why do I need a cape?"

They were standing in a busy London street, outside a small black door that Hermione thought Tom wanted to enter. For some reason, Hermione thought that passers-by couldn't see the door. Their eyes simply slid over it.

Hermione had her doubts, she confessed in her mind. But Tom had been brooding all morning, during breakfast and beyond, and she couldn't really ask him much.

He wasn't particularly chatty that day and so she desisted from annoying him with her questions

The trip from the orphanage to this door had taken very little time.

"I don't want people to ask questions about you," he answered and pulled out an identical cape from his own bag and threw it around his shoulders, covering his head with a hood that came down to his nose. "Hurry up. Put this on and we can go."

It looked funny.

Hermione shrugged and imitated his actions. She put the cape on, with the hood, and followed Tom through the door.

It was a dark, dingy room, dotted with tables and chairs spread around and had very little crowd indoors. The inn-keep seemed to be scrubbing his counter laboriously and he looked up in interest at the sight of Hermione and Tom.

"They call it the Leaky Cauldron," Tom whispered and beckoned her towards the back. "The inn-keeper is Jonas. He asked me to work for him during these summer holidays."

Hermione felt a lingering gaze on her retreating back but she didn't turn around to look.

In the graying back room littered with trash and papers, Tom tapped the wall with his wand, in specific places and Hermione's mouth fell open. The bricks rearranged themselves to form an archway that led to an opening beyond.

She had not expected that.

 _Magic_.

"Come on."

Hermione forgot to blink and her senses were overcrowded with bizarre and surreal sights and sounds.

And smells.

She caught glimpses of narrow lanes littered with a wide variety of shops. Closest to her stood a shop with a weird name, McKenna's Finest Brooms, and it had a tiny model of a broomstick hovering atop the board that declared its name.

Broomsticks?

"We're not going that way," Tom commented as Hermione tried to take in everything in one go: shops full of animals, shops selling books and herbs and Potions and whatnot, shops selling wizarding attire and so on. The list was inexhaustible. "Our route is a lot less... amiable."

Her attention snapped to his face, hidden in shadows, but she could still see a tiny quirk of his lips. She also saw that he was pointing to a dark, dingier looking by-lane called the _'Knockturn Alley'._

She hesitated.

"I really want to explore. It's all... so very new and different." Her eyes travelled to a group of boys, dressed from head to toe in strange looking robes and pointed hats. They had their faces pressed against the glass display of McKenna's Finest Brooms.

Tom noticed her longing looks and shook his head. "We have things to do, Hermione. There will be plenty of time to get around and explore. We'll come back, don't worry. Just... not yet."

Hermione felt a strange déjà-vu at his words. But she dropped the alien feeling out of her mind and acquiesced.

She sneaked one last look at the merry lanes behind her, filled with early shoppers hopping about the stores excitedly, and followed Tom.

* * *

Rows upon rows of cardboard boxes graced that little shop.

It was small, dirty and unremarkable. In no way did it seem to stand out as a wizarding shop, Hermione noted. The owner was a small, wizened man with a double chin and a mean look in his eyes.

Hermione cringed instinctively as his eyes surveyed her in interest.

Tom coughed beside her, demanding his attention, and moved closer to where she stood.

"Master Tom." The man acknowledged with a small bow, it seemed rather forced to Hermione and she wondered why he did it. "What brings you here?"

"A wand for the lady." He gestured towards her absently and settled down in one of the chairs beside the counter. "Your finest, of course."

"Of course." The man bowed again and glanced at her curiously, a fleeting look, before he rushed to the storage room and brought out a stack of similar sized cardboard boxes.

Hermione spent rest of the hour experimenting with a wide variety of wands: different colours, properties and essences. She would flick and brandish and whirl, again and again, and look at Tom for opinion.

Nothing seemed to satisfy him, however, and he would simply shake his head, looking crosser each time.

The shopkeeper seemed to be getting frustrated as well, she could tell, but he was keeping quiet for some reason.

"I can't seem to find the right one for you, my dear. Perhaps..." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Yes, maybe you'll like this one: Ebony, eleven and a half inches with the core of a sphinx. Very powerful and suitable for drawing out the immense reserves of a wizard for performing complex magics."

Hermione reached out for the wand, tentatively, dreading that it would reject her touch as well but was pleasantly surprised when a glowing warmth spread through her hands at the merest touch and she felt... complete.

Complete.

Again, she was distracted for a moment by this strange feeling of déjà-vu.

Like she had done this before.

"I think we have a winner." Tom clapped his hands lightly and hopped off the chair, beaming at her.

"We will, of course, need the trace removed." He had addressed the shopkeeper again, giving him a meaningful look. "Can you do it in the next hour? I have some business in the area. I will be back by noon to collect it. Throw in the holster as well, something that she could put around her upper arm."

The man nodded and took the wand away from Hermione's hand; turning his back to her while Tom covered his head with the hood once more, signalling for her to do the same.

She had a wand now.

Wow.

A wand.

Tom stopped at the door, however, and stared at the shopkeeper. "Oh, and one more thing, Mr Coolidge. I want you to pass this to Lestrange, when he drops by today and ask him to get in touch with me tomorrow."

A small paper, folded and stamped, flew out of Tom's palm and landed on the counter. The shopkeeper looked at in apprehension before pocketing it and bid them goodbye.

As soon as she stepped out of the shop, they were waylaid by a horrible looking woman in ragged clothes.

She held a large plate of chipped bones in her hand and Hermione wondered if they were human bones.

Either way, it was gruesome.

" _Would you like to see your future lover, my dear?"_

She took a step back, in revulsion and fear, and was about to flee back into the shop when Tom's voice called out,

"Get away from her, you silly old crone."

The commanding note in his voice was unmistakeable and Hermione saw the woman throw him dark looks as she retreated, glancing hungrily at the missed prey.

She breathed a sigh of relief and rushed to Tom's side.

He surveyed her countenance cursorily and looked away.

"Are you scared?"

"A bit," she admitted. The Knockturn Alley was ghastly, full of sinister looking men and some beasts in human clothing, and she never wanted to step foot in that place again. "Can we leave this area, please? It's too morbid for my taste and I am afraid something wrong will happen to us."

"There's no need to worry." He took her hand and squeezed it lightly, his thin lips curling upwards in a humorous smile that was sweet and sinister at the same time. "I'm with you. "

For a lot of reasons, it didn't sound as reassuring as it should have and Hermione could only shrug halfheartedly in response.

* * *

Hello guys,

this chapter is a bit long but I guess I want to make this a long story.

Um, do you like this Tom? I'm not sure if I have written him too well. And Hermione is a bit confused and a lot of other things.

I love u guys so much. Please leave a review and let me know if u like it. It helps me write quicker and encourages me to do better.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

Two weeks had passed in casual embrace of time with change. She had settled comfortably with the knowledge that she was different, just like Tom, and that it was a good thing.

She was in awe of his power and had a voracious appetite for every bit of knowledge that he bestowed on her. She was particularly good at Arithmancy and Tom had taken an interest in her skills therein. He was very supportive, teaching her minute details, working on her spell-casting and lending her his own concise notes for study.

He worked hard with her and his approbation always pleased her. She liked his company and admired his erudition.

He was the only friend she had.

"Hermione?"

She looked up from the book she was currently perusing, with keen interest, and saw Tom's face peeping out from behind the door. It was a good thing that no one other than Tom visited her room. Coupled with little space and a ridiculous amount of books that she had bought and borrowed, it looked like a storehouse.

She had even put up thick curtains across the sole window.

It was her den.

"Yes?" She looked at him with quizzical eyes and watched silently as he sidled through the slight opening and entered, choosing to sit on the bed with a plop.

"Did you finish the book? I need it."

Her attention went to the scattered volumes on the floor and she shuffled through some of his notes.

"This one?" She raised a thick, purple book up to his eye level and threw it at him. "It was disgusting, you know."

"Why so?"

She glared at his face. He knew exactly _why_ she had found the book... unappealing.

"You know exactly _why_ , Thomas Riddle. It's so... yuck! I mean those curses and what they do to people... shit, Thomas. I didn't even know that human beings... how could anyone? I mean..." She threw him a scathing look once more. "I think I found the death curse immensely benign and merciful when compared to rest of the things in the book."

"Mmmm," Tom said, not particularly paying attention to her as he shuffled through the pages of the book she had just thrown at him. "Well, you are a _girl_ , after all. I haven't seen any of your sex to have much stomach for... curses."

"It's got nothing to do with that and you know it." She searched for her wand, stowed away somewhere beneath the heap. "It makes you think, doesn't it? Maybe the... Muggles had it right when they persecuted wizards and witches for dabbling in magic. Most of the material you've given me to read is nothing but... nasty and evil. And _that_ is a word I use _mildly_."

"What about that book I gave you on Arithmancy? And Charms?" He looked at her with a thoughtful expression on his face. "You're too judgemental, Hermione."

She pouted in response, wondering if he was right. His eyes bore a faraway look, something that didn't suit him one bit. He was always someone who had enough presence of mind and thought.

"Why am I reading all this, anyway?" she asked, not for the first time. "It's not like it is any good to me, unless I want to murder some in the most excruciating manner possible."

She laughed at her own sentence but shut up when Tom didn't reciprocate her sentiment.

 _It was true though, wasn't it?_

She had read so many books in the last two weeks. All sorts of offensive and defensive spells, enchantments, spell crafting and whatnot... She had even snuck a little book of fairytales in her shopping bag when Tom had taken her to Flourish and Blotts. She read it in her spare time when she wanted to relax and loosen up. There wasn't a lot of that, not when you had Tom breathing down your neck, intent upon making you master the spells he thought necessary.

And the spells that _he_ thought necessary were... gods, what was the word for it...?

 _Gruesome_.

Well, most of them.

But it still sated something in her, something dark and meaningful whenever she managed to pull off an enchantment perfectly. Even Tom praised her on times like those and she was always more than a little pleased when she had his approval.

For now that she was beginning to learn from him, she realised how good he was.

An amazingly talented spell caster, he had the natural finesse, the grace and most importantly, the focus of a master. She wondered, often, if many wizards were like him but something told her that they weren't.

They couldn't be.

He was exceptional.

"Are you even listening to me?"

His sharp voice brought her out of her musings.

"What?"

He rolled his eyes and snapped the book shut. It was his turn to glare at her.

"Tell me, Hermione, what good do you think learning magic, _any kind of magic_ , would do to you?"

Hermione bit her lip in uncertainty.

She didn't know.

Tom tilted his head; he knew exactly why she hesitated. She didn't have an answer and he was waiting for her to acknowledge her ignorance.

"I don't know."

There.

"Good. I'm glad you admit that, at least." He wrapped his fingers around the iron bar at the bottom of her bed and scratched a little. He was doing this to irritate her, she knew. "They won't accept you, you know. Even though you have magic in your veins, they will refuse to take you in. If you were to go to the Ministry, they would simply Obliviate you and leave you out in the Muggle world. That is how things work in my world, Hermione. You can't be a part of it now. At least, not by the standards that they have set and the laws by which they live."

"That seems rather discriminatory, doesn't it?" she said after a while, filled with indignation.

"It is," he said softly. "But you see, this problem doesn't arise very often. Every magical kid is registered so there is very little chance of a person being overlooked. Even those with Muggle heritage are included, which brings me to your peculiar case..."

"I have watched your progress, Hermione, these last two weeks. You take very little time to master the spells that would require a person of average capabilities months. It makes me suspicious... I don't believe that you were ever overlooked. I think..." He leaned forwards and closed his eyes, a vein twitching in his temple. "No. It is the only explanation. You must have known magic previously, prior to whatever mishap you underwent... you must have."

"What do you mean?"

Tom's silver eyes bore deep into her and she felt like he had reached a part of her soul...

"I think you have been Obliviated."

"What?"

He nodded.

"Not simple memory charms, mind you; they would have to be powerful ones, too, for I cannot diagnose anything wrong with your memory. I know memory charms and how to undo them too but yours... No.. I have seen you, _sat_ with you and taught you all this. It isn't innate talent, Hermione. You may have forgotten magic but it remembers you and comes to you with practices ease." He drew a deep breath and Hermione felt shudders run through her spine. "But someone Obliviated you. Someone erased all your memories; everything and I bet that they don't want you regaining them." He touched and caressed the odd ring on his finger. "Which brings us to my second premise. You cannot run around in the open, you cannot go to the Ministry because you do not know who your enemies are. And if that is the case, don't you think you need to be equipped and ready for any eventuality?"

"I suppose it does... Why would someone take away my memories...?" She ran a hand through her hair, her fingers trembling a little.

"I don't know." His face had a pinched look and he turned away from her. "But if I were you, I would keep myself hidden and ready."

"For how long?"

"For as long as it is necessary, Hermione." He shrugged and got up, sauntering towards the window to look out and Hermione sat amidst scattered books, shocked and perturbed at his words. "We'll try to find out more, I promise, but that time hasn't arrived yet."

Someone had Obliviated her.

But why?

And for the first time in days, she felt an unknown fear.

"The school term begins next week," he mentioned casually. "You won't be able to accompany me, of course."

 _Of course_ , she thought moodily. She would be left here, all alone, with nothing to do but read and practice. She didn't have many friends at the orphanage. Tom was her only friend, really.

If someone had erased her memory... did that mean she had parents? Were they alive? Could they be looking for her?

 _Don't think about all that_ , she shook her head. _You don't have answers right now. But you will._

 _One day._

"I want you to come to Hogsmeade."

"Huh?"

He turned his back to the window, his hands folded behind him as he looked at her thoughtfully.

"It's better, don't you think? You could get a job in the village and I'll be close by." He gave her a sweet smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You'll have more freedom but you will need to make sure that you keep low. I'll be able to see you often enough."

Hermione felt elated at his words. "I would love that, Tom. I was dreading staying here all alone, for the rest of four months with no one for company but Mark..." She made a face at that memory.

The boy hadn't bothered either of them for days and she was grateful.

He sniggered. "Well, I couldn't leave my one good friend all alone in this dark and terrible world, could I?" He scratched his chin before his hand went down to the pocket and he drew out a familiar looking pale wand. "Are you ready, my dear?"

Her eyes widened when she realised what he meant and she had to scramble for her wand. He always liked coming up with surprise duels now and then, for some reason, and Hermione always lost. The stupid thing was buried deep somewhere..."I'm not ready, Tom! Don't curse, you idiot. I can't find my bloody—"

That was all she said before a stinging hex met her upturned buttock and she swore at him loudly, knowing that he had aimed there on purpose.

 _The pervert._

* * *

He was packing. She stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with crossed arms.

"You've cleaned up the entire room," she commented, closing the door behind her.

"Well, I don't intend to return." He glanced at her briefly and put a pair of pants in his trunk. She noticed how he never wore casuals. Even now, he was dressed in loose fitted shirt and trousers, looking remarkably comfortable somehow and she wondered why her clothes always felt... outrageously stiff. "Are you done too?"

She scratched her nose and sat on the desk that lay beside his bed. "Yes. I haven't packed the books, though. I have too many of those and I couldn't fit them in my suitcase."

Yes.

She had only a suitcase of articles that belonged to her. She didn't mint though. She wasn't a materialistic person and she was making do quite well with whatever she had.

"Why didn't you use a shrinking charm?" he asked absently, throwing a thick tome into the trunk. "It would lessen your load and you could fit all the books in your suitcase."

"You didn't teach me that spell."

Tom looked a bit annoyed and he turned to look at her, his hands resting on his hips. "I wish I didn't have to teach you everything, you know."

"I don't have access to anyone other than you."

He rolled his eyes once again and collected his books on the bed. "Well, I guess you'll be able to do better once you're in Hogsmeade. Did you get your letter from Mr Stern?"

She gave him an obtuse smile.

"I did." She showed him the dark envelope which contained her correspondence with Mr Stern, the proprietor of 'Reading and Remembering', a quaint bookshop on the outskirts of Hogsmeade. "He says he'll take me on as an assistant. I get minimum wage and a tiny apartment over the shop."

She was happy.

She had a job and a place to live.

And she had a friend.

She didn't need more at the moment.

Except, of course, her _identity_.

 _Don't go there, Hermione_.

"Congratulations." He tilted his head and grinned at her, pointing his wand to the heap of books on his bed. "The shrinking charm is an easy spell you know. _Diminuendo_."

The large heap shrank into a small cube: compact and light and Hermione committed the incantation to her memory.

"See, Tom, now _that_ is the kind of magic you should be teaching me. Not that horrible Entrails-Expelling curse and Nigrum Carne."

She shuddered at the memory of the latter curse...

"Right," he said mockingly. "If someone attacks you, say with Fiendfyre, the best thing to do, Hermione, is to _shrink_ the caster. You will never appreciate my selfless efforts, will you?"

She hopped down the desk and gave him a hand with his clothes. "You know it isn't like that, Tom. I do appreciate all your help. You're my only friend... the only person I know in this world. But the content of your tutelage... it bothers me sometimes. It's just... a little dark, that's all."

Tom sighed and took off his ring, tossing it into his trunk and put his entire weight on the lid. It closed with a snap and he sat down on it.

He extended his hands towards her.

"I am teaching you what I know. The content might be a little _unorthodox_ , but I enjoy it. I enjoy reading about it. I enjoy the knowledge and the power it gives me. I have taught myself all of this." His lips quirked up in a tiny smile when she put her hands in his and he squeezed them warmly. Something tingled in her fingers... and unknown something but she brushed it away. "Attack is the best form of defence, you know."

"But why would I need to defend myself? I don't understand..."

"We've discussed this already," he said wearily, his eyes darkening and for a moment she thought she felt a light sting in her palm.

"I don't have enemies, Tom."

He stroked the back of her hand lightly, his nail scratching at her skin and she couldn't see the expression in his eyes anymore. "You presume too much, Hermione, and heed very little. Can you be sure that I am not your enemy?"

She felt a familiar stroke of fear run trough her heart. His eyes were cold now, not the familiar warm grey she was used to and she almost took a step back.

He could be quite... creepy at times.

"You're not my enemy, Tom," she whispered, disentangling her hands from his, and turned away.

"Not yet," he muttered quietly, to himself, and looked at her innocent brown eyes peeping at him from behind the thick curtain of her brown hair. "There is no harm in caution, though. Go pack and we'll leave in another hour."

She took one last look at him and closed the door behind her, her heart thudding loudly in her chest and she felt drained.

 _Oh God._

* * *

She switched off the lamp and settled down in her bed. It was warm and welcoming. The room was small but her lodgings had a kitchen and a bathroom and she was content.

There wasn't much by way of decoration, she reflected as she watched the ceiling in dim light.

But it was something.

The bookshop downstairs was rather small. It didn't have a large stock but Hermione was pleasantly surprised by the quality of books. They were interesting and engrossing at the same time. Her job was to basically run the shop as Mr Stern preferred to supervise from distance. He had told her that she would be working alone most of the time and that he expected her to take care of the shop on her own. He would, of course, check in on her once or twice a week. He had a thriving business in the Diagon Alley, apparently, and he only kept this shop because it had belonged to his grandfather.

There were very few customers on week days but she wondered if that would change on weekends.

All in all, she couldn't complain.

It was nice.

And Thomas had mentioned that he would visit her the next day.

She was looking forward to it.

 _So many more adventures lay along the way_ , she reflected as she closed her eyes and fell asleep with a smile on her face.

* * *

The bell rang somewhere in the back of the tiny shop and Tom craned his neck over the shelves to locate Hermione. Her hair was rather distinctive so it was hard to miss her. She was busy at the cash counter, working on some papers.

The shop was empty, as he had expected.

Mr Stern had done this favour to him on a special request.

 _He needed her close_ , he reflected as he waved to her and a sweet smile spread on her face. She was still very naive and entirely too trusting.

He would have to teach her suspicion as well.

 _So much work_ , he thought as he moved through aisles laden with books and magazine. _But it would be worth it._

 _He needed people like her._

'You're here," she stated the obvious, giving him a brief hug. Tom stiffened at contact and it must have become apparent to her for she drew back immediately and frowned at him. "Oh, so you disapprove too."

 _She intrigued him as well_. Her mannerisms, her language and the way she carried herself... it wasn't like any of the girls he had met so far.

"Disapprove?"

 _And she was powerful though she didn't know it._

 _Smart and driven_.

"Yes. Of this. Simple hugs." She rolled her eyes. "I don't get it. What's wrong with a friend hugging another? Mrs Cole told me off for doing it to Ronan when we left, saying it wasn't appropriate for a lady _. As if!"_

He raised an eyebrow.

 _Whoever heard of bullshit like that?_

She was a strange creature. Her memory was gone and that was an unknown variable about her which Tom did not particularly care for. He needed to know everything about her. That was how he worked. He was a very curious person and his curiosity had led him to unfathomable success.

In short, even if she didn't care much about regaining her lost memories, he did.

But he did not want to waste time getting into petty arguments with her right now. She could be quite assertive if she so chose and get vindictive if she didn't win an argument.

"Well, Mrs Cole isn't here anymore, is she? I don't think you have to worry about her disapproval anymore." He shrugged and pulled out a magazine from the stack. "Why are we talking about this, anyway? I have only an hour off and I need to get back to the castle to avoid detention, you know. Could we talk about more important things, please?"

She muttered something incoherent under her breath.

"How do you like your lodgings?"

She looked at him, scowling still, but her shoulders relaxed and he knew that she had dropped the topic.

"It's good. I mean, I like it so far."

"Why don't you show it to me?"

She looked around uncertainly.

 _Silly girl._

 _Did she really think she had a responsibility here?_

Stern wouldn't dare to fire her even if she burned down the shop, indebted as he was to Tom's discretion in keeping his secrets undisclosed.

It was a good thing that Tom had Stern's nerve under his control. The man was very resourceful and Tom planned to use his resources for future endeavours.

"I'm sure Mr Stern wouldn't mind if you locked the shop and took a break," he said to her in what he thought was a comforting tone. _Sweet Slytherin, the things he had to do get followers_. But she would be an asset, he could tell. "Come on. Just one cup of coffee in your new abode and you can come back down here and serve your invisible customers."

* * *

"So... Do you like it?" she asked, looking at him closely. "It isn't much but I think it's a good start."

He had almost dragged her out of the shop. She had only had time to cast a quick Alohomore before climbing up the stairs. They were dusty and rickety; she hadn't had the chance to repair or clean.

He played with his ring while she sipped her coffee. She noticed that he didn't touch his. The green coloured armchair in which he sat complemented the lapels on his coat. The light was a pleasant hue of golden and she felt perfectly at peace for now.

"It's good," he agreed, drawing further circles on the jaded stone. His lips were pressed into a thin, brown line on his pale face. "Hermione, I have a favour to ask of you..."

"Go ahead."

"I need a skilled Arithmancer... for some projects of mine..." He put his chin in his hand, looking at her intently from behind those silver eyes. It was uncanny how intense and unnerving his looks could be."You have my book, don't you? The Beginner's Logic?"

"Yes."

"Good," he said, drawing out a medium-sized package from his robes. "Do you think you could read these and master the content in two weeks? It would be of great help to me."

She took the brown coloured package from him—it felt rough to touch but she was confident in her ability—she looked at him with affirmation in her eyes.

She was very good at Arithmancy and she even _liked_ the subject, for a change.

"Yes, I believe I could do it. But why do you need me? I mean... you are pretty good at all this yourself... "

"I am. And believe me, I wouldn't ask you if it wasn't necessary. The project which I am going to undertake will require two skilled Arithmancers, not one. And sadly, I haven't got another." He pouted moodily, still giving her that intensely eerie look. "You've mastered the basics so well. I promise just these three books and my notes and I don't think you'll be far behind at all."

She nodded and placed the package on her bed.

"Don't worry about it. I'll manage it well enough. You should be worrying about your coffee though, it's getting cold." Her eyes fell upon the stone in his once again. There was a marking—an engraving of a triangle with an eye etched in the centre, it was so red and beautiful—she looked up at him. "Who gave you that ring?"

Her question visibly rattled him for he changed his posture and looked at the object. "No one. I took it." He looked at her meaningfully. "Why do you ask?"

Took it?

Stole it?

Huh.

"Well." She reached for his hand and touched the stone. He didn't flinch away from her grasp. There was that engraving again. "It has the Hallows marked on it. There was a tale about an invisibility cloak, an unbeatable wand and a resurrection stone in one of my books. This stone looks just like the author described it in that book."

He tilted his head in interest. "Really?"

"Yeah. I guess someone made merchandises for the story and, um, sold them."

The acknowledgement on his face was late in coming. He seemed to be thinking fast.

 _Hmm._

"Do you have the book?"

"Yes, I have it here somewhere," she said and got up. Her books were piled in a corner and on top of them lay the desired object. She grabbed it and passed it to Tom.

"Where did you get this?" His fingers poked the cover open and his eyes raked the index. "I don't remember having anything of this sort in my collection."

"I snuck it into the pile of books you bought me from Flourish and Blotts." She shifted guiltily and her cheeks heated up when he looked at her in amusement. "I needed a light read," she finished lamely.

"Ah." His eyes ran over the print quickly and he frowned, coming to a decision slowly and he snapped the book shut. "I'll take this with me then. I don't want anything disturbing your studies, do I?"

"Tom..." she began but he got there first.

"I'm kidding, Hermione. It's just a book. _Obviously_ , I don't care." He sighed and looked around. "Are you happy so far?"

That was out of the blue.

"I'm reasonably contented," she replied, confused. "For now."

"For now," he repeated quietly. "Remember that, Hermione. The keyword is _'For now'_."

His eyes narrowed humourlessly, his lips pressed into a thin line—he looked strangely haunted and wonderfully bleak at the same time, his high cheeks bones standing out in his face and his eyes so very empty and grey and she was forced to look elsewhere, his Hogwarts dress suited him immensely well and he looked rather authoritative and stern and she wondered how a dress could change so much about him—he was odd.

But he was _her_ odd friend, she thought as she gave him a confused stare and sipped the last dregs of her coffee.

For now.

* * *

Hey guys,

Another chapter.

Alright, so here's the deal. I get really, freakishly, insanely insecure whenever i write a piece about Tom and Hermione. It just feels so out of place and wrong.

Do you think it's an okay story or should I just quit and save myself the trouble?

Please please let me know. Another persons point of view can make the difference between continuing and quitting for me at this stage.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

* * *

One fine morning found Hermione hunched over a small book, just outside the door of ' _Reading and Remembering_ '. The business was slow in the mornings and she would often venture outside to enjoy the fresh air and catch glimpses of the village life. Being someway off the main marketplace, the shop was surrounded by a few residential properties and she was beginning to get acquainted with her neighbours. They were a nice bunch, mostly. There was Shawn Chambers, a portly man in his fifties, who lived right across the street and would drop by to purchase magazines and chat about his plants. Then there was Mrs. Buckstein whose house was adjacent to the shop. A striking woman in her late thirties, she would invite Hermione for coffee and lunch just about every single day. Also there was Frank, her tenant who had developed a crush on Hermione and would often freeze at the sight of her and scamper indoors.

All in all, it was pleasant.

She had progressed in Arithmancy, as well. One of the books that Tom had lent her had a very puzzling concept relating to Arithmancy cubes. Try as she might, she could not locate further information on them. Only a cursory reference had been made to them and she meant to dig deeper. Perhaps she would have a chance to ask Tom when he visited her next.

"Bright morning, Hermione," Mrs Buckstein called out from her window. "Why don't you come in for a cup of coffee?"

She waved in return and shook her head. "I'm still on duty, Mrs Buckstein. I'll stop by in the evening."

The round faced, pink-cheeked lady smiled in response and retreated indoors.

That left Hermione alone with her book. _Maybe she should go inside and catalogue the new stack of magazines that had arrived the previous evening_ , she thought.

The tinkling bell brought a smile to her face. It was always so sweet and sublime... one couldn't help feeling their spirits lift.

She had been working for ten minutes when the bell chimed again and she noticed a blonde boy enter her shop. His clothes were a dark shade of blue—fitted perfectly and exuding a sense of luxury in their fabric and cut—Hermione decided that he had to be someone belonging to a wealthy family, at the very least. He also had a strangely arrogant air in his bearing and she could not help rolling her eyes when his eyes swept over the aisles, imperiously, and he turned up his nose at the sight.

"Good morning. May I help you?' she said politely, having delayed as long as she could, and revealed herself from behind one of the stacks.

"I need a coffee-table book, preferably about pureblood traditions and the like." He barely glanced at her, gesturing at her dismissively, and she found herself annoyed. "And make it quick. I haven't got all day."

 _Yeah, right_.

Judging by his aristocratic airs and arrogant mannerisms, she was sure that time was _all_ he had at his disposal.

She found a nice book for him; it was illuminated and had good descriptions about obscure pureblood customs and domestic rituals.

"Will this do?" She handed him the book.

He looked at her inquisitively, taking the book, and scanned through the contents. "I suppose. Are you new here? I don't recall having seen you before."

She was quite sure that he probably never paid attention to sales-people and the question appeared out of place.

"Yes, actually. I started here about a week ago. Why?"

"No reason." He waved her away, now beginning to check out some books in the Potions section. "What is your name, by the way?"

"Hermione," she answered, somewhat puzzled, and turned away.

"That's a very pretty name for a..." His voice was almost too close to her and she was startled. She dropped the books she had been holding and cursed under her breath.

"For a what?" She bent down, gathering the books in her arms once more, and looked up. He was standing right behind her, with an expressionless mask plastered over his pale, almost invisible features.

"A poor girl belonging to the labouring class?" He smirked at her, hopping over the few remaining books on the ground, and went to the cash counter. Once there, he began tapping rather furiously on the wooden panel. "I must say, _Hermione_ , the service in this store is abysmal. I _must_ tell father. He happens to be on very good terms with Mr Stern, you see."

 _Gods, he was hateful._

She put the books aside, got up and bit down a scathing retort.

"That will be ten galleons," she said, gritting her teeth while she packed the book for him.

 _Would he really say something to Mr. Stern about it? Did his father really know him or was he just bluffing?_

" _Excuse me,_ but I think you owe me ten galleons for the book," she repeated—her voice a tad bit louder and her eyes just a little narrowed at his impoliteness—but the payment did not seem forthcoming from the blonde jerk in front of her.

He simply tipped his head sideways, his greyish eyes shining maliciously. "I don't care for your tone, girl. In fact, I expect to be compensated for your rude behaviour and dismal service. Why don't you just.. _give_ me the book as reparations for your ugly behaviour and an even uglier face?"

He mouth almost fell open at his words.

She had never met someone so despicable in her life; he was walking around demanding things and passing out dispapargin remarks to people as if he owned the world.

" _I think not."_ She snatched away the book and put it in one of the drawers. And this time, she did not care about sounding impolite. _To hell with him and his alleged relation to Mr Stern_. "You've insulted me enough and I think that you should leave."

His pale lips twisted into a sneer. "And what will you do about it if I don't? I want that book, _Hermione_ , and I am going to have it."

She glared at him, feeling for her wand stowed away up her arm.

He made to reach a gloved hand towards the drawer, now standing next to her, but she pushed it away and drew her wand.

" _Leave_ , mister. I won't warn you again."

His eyebrows rose until they almost met his hairline and then he laughed.

 _He laughed at her._

" _You think you can take me on?"_ He withdrew his own wand and twirled it between his fingers. "You're just a girl. You think you can take on a Malfoy? You're not even worth the mud that clings to my boots—I could buy ten of you without batting an eyelid, you slut, and you dare raise your wand to my face!"

She fumed at his words—a small volcano of rage seemingly began to build up inside her—it took all the strength she had to not throw herself at him and beat him to pulp with her punches.

No. She would beat him with magic.

Her eyes were trained on any movement that he might make.

She was ready.

She was ready because Tom had trained her well and in that moment, she thanked him.

Trouble was everywhere and he had been right. It would find her some day and she had to be ready to face it.

"Why don't you take the first hit? I will then proceed to curse you and take the book anyway and there is not a damn thing you will be able to do about it." His twisted sneer didn't bother her. "No? Oh, are you _so_ bad? Well, I guess there's nothing that can save you then my dear."

He flung a jet of red light towards her, a variant of the shadow curse that she had learned from Tom—it was dark, very dark almost touching the high bar she had set for _Nigrum Carne_ —she swivelled, ducking behind the counter and the curse missed her barely.

It smashed into the wall behind her and gouged a large black hole in it.

 _Fuck_!

Her hand tightened over her wand.

This was not going to be pretty.

 _Tenebris Ignari_ , her mind alighted on it as her first choice.

Meanwhile, the blonde bastard was gloating.

"You're a big coward, aren't you, _Hermione_?" he chuckled, and she could hear the incessant tapping of his foot on the ground.

 _Alright. Here goes._

She flung out of here hiding place, almost sliding two feet over the wooden floor to her right and took an aim at his legs.

' _Tenebris Ignari_!' she yelled out, her wand held steadily in her hand as she fired the curse.

It hit its mark—she watched in agonised horror as his legs jerked forwards with a snap and he fell headfirst on to the ground, his flesh standing out against the brown wooden floor—she panicked and watched the effects of her curse with widened eyes and a violently thudding heart.

 _Oh God._

She dragged his immobile, unconscious body behind the counter and left it there.

She didn't know the counter curse.

 _Oh God._

She had to speak to Tom. She would send him a letter, straightaway, just as he had directed. It was an _emergency_. She didn't have an owl but maybe she could borrow one from Mrs Buckstein next door.

 _Oh God._

* * *

It had been more than an hour and she was standing just outside the door. No customers had turned up and she thanked her good fortune for the same.

She wiped the sweat off her brow.

She hadn't repaired the wall behind her—she didn't know _how_ and the unconscious body still lay hidden behind the counter—this was not going to go well.

" _What the fuck did you do, Hermione?"_

Almost out of nowhere, it seemed, he had turned up.

She hadn't seen him walk to the door, at least.

But she was relieved to see him. He, however, stood with crossed arms and narrowed eyes.

 _Uh-oh._

"There was a boy in here an hour ago, Tom." She bit her lip. This was going to be hard, especially since he had already begun tapping his foot on the ground in impatience. "He began quarrelling with me about a book—he wanted to just take it from me and not pay and... Tom, I didn't know what to do—he was bullying me and then he attacked me out of nowhere—I had to defend myself."

His eyes narrowed further, in disapproval or something else, she couldn't say.

"Where is he?" A vein twitched in his temple.

"Inside." She opened the door and let him in. "He tried to use the Shadow Curse on me."

Her voice was almost... feverish. She still could not believe that this had happened to her.

As she had pointed, he went behind the counter.

" _Abraxas_." Tom bent over and checked his pulse. " _Abraxas_ attacked you?"

"You know him?" she asked curiously.

"Yes and no." His face relaxed visibly, as she watched, and he drew out his wand. "You're lucky that it was him and not someone else. Things might have been harder otherwise. What did you use?"

"Tenebris Ignari."

" _Really_ , Hermione?" Tom placed a hand on the other boy's chest. His tone wasn't one of approval. "Why not simply stun him? What would have happened if someone had walked in? The Ignari series of curses is dark and you know that quite well, don't you? Did I not impress upon you the gravity of using these curses without caution and discretion?"

She cringed at his tone.

"I—"

" _Never mind."_ He created a star in the air, using just his finger, and it glowed brightly a few inches above the body. As she watched, it descended and settled down in his chest without a sound. At the same time, Tom muttered something.

The hateful boy coughed and his eyes snapped open.

"T—Tom," he said, clutching his chest. He propped himself up on his elbows.

A second later, his eyes went to her and his fist clenched. " _You_! You bitch—wait until—"

But he could not finish his sentence.

" _Abraxas_ ," Tom's commanding voice cut across his profanity. "Mind your words."

Abraxas's eyes turned into saucers at the censure in Tom's voice. "But she attacked me! The little strumpet—she"

" _That's enough, Malfoy_ ," Tom tilted his head, his eyes eerily empty of emotion and Hermione noticed how Abraxas swallowed his next words. "Get up and clean after yourself."

 _What was the relation between these two_? It didn't look like friendship to her. But then again, Tom could be quite dominating and when he used that tone, there was no arguing with him.

Abraxas did as he was told—he stood up rather groggily, brushed the dust off his velvet robes and pocketed the wand that Tom offered him—he looked at Tom in puzzlement.

"This is Hermione, Abraxas. A _friend_ of mine." Tom scratched the end of his nose. "You should offer her an apology for the inconvenience you have deliberately caused her, shouldn't you?'

Abraxas looked shocked at Tom's words but he seemed to come to a decision after a few seconds' brainstorming. He dipped his head slightly.

" _I'm sorry, Hermione."_

His tone was filled with venom and Hermione did not need but she felt a little recompensed for her traumatic experience, regardless of the sincerity behind his words. She was also bewildered by the amount of power Tom held over this hateful, arrogant boy.

Tom smiled lightly at his words. "Go wait outside the door. I'll be with you in a moment." He pointed towards the door, his pale wand still held carelessly in his hand. "Oh and Abraxas, take care not to get hexed while you wait."

Tom chuckled a bit as Abraxas moved out, trying to appear dignified and regal but he failed miserably.

" _He's your friend?"_ Hermione asked him as soon as he was out of earshot. "He's a despicable boy! He came here, treating the shop as if he owned it and started attacking me when I wouldn't let him have what he wanted. How could you have friends like him?"

Tom was looking for something in his bag.

'I need people like him." He looked sideways and his eyes fell upon the dark hole in the wall. He shook his head and pointed his wand at the wall. "He's a pompous ass but he can be managed. But enough about him, I have a book that I think might help you discover more about Arithmancy cubes."

He retrieved a black book from his bag and offered it to her. She noted that it had no title or markings of any sort on the cover. "I had to pull a lot of strings to acquire it but I think it's worth the trouble. Anyway, I have to go back to school now. I'll meet you on the weekend, alright."

"Alright." She took the book from him gave him a brief hug. This time, he leaned into her touch and patted her hair a bit.

"Take care of yourself and _please_ ," he ruffled her hair once again, "don't kill someone while I'm away. Just... _stun_ them, okay."

She punched him and missed.

He slung his bag over his shoulder and was about to leave through the door when he stopped, his hand clutching the metal knob.

"How true do you think legends are, Hermione?"

She had begun shuffling through the papers on her counter. "I don't know but I believe that legends always have a basis in fact." She looked up. "I think that one could always find a historical trail of truth for legend if they look close enough."

Tom inclined his head towards her, his eyes shining with interest. "I'll see you on the weekend, Hermione. Write to me if you're in trouble."

* * *

"You're an idiot, Abraxas." Tom grabbed hold of the boy's collar from behind and dragged him on the road. "What possessed you to create a scene like that in the middle of the day?"

Abraxas muttered something incoherently and Tom found his patience giving way.

Walking through the less travelled roads of Hogsmeade, Tom pondered over Hermione's words.

 _The legends..._

"Are there any other famous wand makers, Malfoy?"

Abraxas looked at Tom with trepidation. Tom could literally trace the outline of his thoughts, dull and uninventive as they were.

He was worried that Tom was displeased and fearful that he might be punished for the day's events.

"There's Gregorovitch, I suppose..." Malfoy s ran a shaking hand through his blonde hair, intently watching Tom. "My grandfather always spoke highly of his work, of course. But my father sets much store by Ollivander. His business used to be a flourishing one but it has since fallen on bad times..."

"Gregorovitch..." Tom muttered to himself.

 _What was he doing?_

Despite what he believed, legends were just that. _Fairy tales_.

And he certainly did not have time for those...

But then... hadn't the Chamber of Slytherin been a legend too? And hadn't he chased after odd stories and myths for years, only to find them true one day? Besides, he also had the ring which was inlaid with a stone that might have been... the resurrection stone.

He would experiment on it the first thing tomorrow.

 _No, he wouldn't ignore it._

"Why did you act so recklessly, Abraxas? Attacking without provocation? Have I not taught you anything _, my friend_?"

Abraxas walked with his hands buried deep inside his pockets. His face twisted into an ugly look and Tom decided that he would have to take measures to curb any more incidents of defiance from this aristocratic buffoon. He could not be allowed to develop independent airs, not if he was to stay useful and loyal.

"I wanted to save some money, Tom," he muttered. "My father—he refuses to increase my allowance further and most of it goes into our work—I am running out of funds for general transactions. I didn't mean to attack her; I was just going to bully her into parting with the book—she was just a girl—she should have simply acquiesced to my demand. And the book was for my mother's birthday; I had to have it."

Ah.

Of course Tom understood his predicament.

Most of Malfoy's allowances went to Tom's coffers and apparently he was running out.

He would have to take steps to prevent Malfoy's discontent in this area first.

"We're friends, Abraxas, aren't we?" He placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "You will come to me the next time you need something but lack the means to acquire it. And I do not speak only of money, if you must know."

Abraxas's stiff shoulders relaxed and relief spread over his features. "Of course, Tom." He grinned at him and started whistling. Tom shook his head at the noise.

Idiot.

"So what about Leann?" They had almost reached the castle grounds when Abraxas flung the question at him. "Is Hermione your new girlfriend now?"

" _Girlfriend_ , Abraxas?" Tom glanced at him. "Hermione is _not_ my girlfriend. Leanne is."

He lit a cigarette, leaning against a tree. They had only to cross the next bend and they would have arrived at their destination.

Malfoy looked at him strangely. "Who is she then?"

Tom ejected a smoke ring from his mouth.

 _Oh, how he loved to smoke in the open air. .._

" _She's your sister, Abraxas_ ," he murmured, enjoying the calming effect of nicotine. "She will be one of us soon. And that is why you need to respect her."

Comprehension damned on Malfoy's features and a twisted sneer crossed his lips.

" _Our sister?"_ He raised his eyebrows. " _Is she that good_?"

"She's better than good. You've tasted the end of her curse; you tell me."

Malfoy could only gape open-mouthed at him. "She got lucky."

"Of course." Tom crushed the remaining stub under his shoe. "Let's get back to the castle or Dumbledore will come swooping down on us like a bat. He hates me for no reason."

* * *

"I read it." She slipped the book towards him and took a sip from her bottle. Tom had called it Firewhiskey and she had to admit that the name described it adequately. The strange liquid burned her throat and made her eyes water. "It is by far the most intriguing aspect of magical construction. Why do most books bypass it, only referring to it obscurely?"

Tom was looking at her curiously.

"I think _that_ should be obvious. For some reason, very few people have the ability to practice this branch of magic. Many have tried, including me, and failed. Their magic doesn't respond to Arithmancy Cubes."

" _But why?"_ She leaned forward, her brown eyes shining with excitement. "Isn't magic the same for every one? Why should it discriminate? And what makes you think that I would be able to practice it?"

Tom signalled the bartender to get more Fireshiskies.

"First of all, magic is _not_ the same for everyone. It differs in nature and power from one person to another. Think of it as blood that runs in your veins. The essential composition might be the same but do we not have different blood groups? And trust me, magic is much more varied and discriminatory than blood." He frowned and rubbed the ring on his finger. "And to be honest, I don't know if it will respond to you. I simply need to find out, that's all. I can't do it, much as it pains me to admit this, but I simply cannot make the cubes work. I just want to see if they might work for you."

"I guess."

She noticed that most girls in the small pub were eyeing Tom with interest and longing. He was rather handsome, she conceded.

The pub was an old establishment and Tom had chosen it especially for them to meet and discuss things because, as he said, he knew the bartender and they would not be disturbed.

"Do you have the Cubes?"

He retrieved a fistful of something from his robes and dropped it on the table. Four small cubes with plain white surfaces rolled on the table and Hermione caught them in her palm before they toppled over and fell on the floor.

"These must have been hard to get," she remarked.

"Do you know what to do?" he asked her casually.

"Yes, I suppose." She bit her lip and looked around. They were sitting in a corner and as such no one was paying attention to her but still... "What should I try?"

Tom had closed his eyes, a small frown marring his brows.

"Try the shrinking spell on this flowerpot." He tapped it with his thumb and looked at her expectantly. For some reason, Hermione thought that he really believed that she could do it. "Carve the words with your finger onto these cubes. You cannot use your wand. Since it is the first time, some imagination might help. Close your eyes and imagine the words you're carving and once you're done, collect them in your hand."

Hermione nodded, her eyes focused on the Cubes.

 _Deep breath._

 _Carve the words._

She closed her eyes and ran her fingers all over each cube, picturing the letter she wanted to carve therein. She took her time, keeping her focus and gathered them into her palm once she was done.

She opened her eyes and found Tom watching her closely.

"Do you think it worked?" she asked, feeling nervous about his answer.

He didn't speak but the slight frown across his forehead told her how deeply invested he was in this experiment.

"That remains to be seen," he remarked softly. "Drop them into the pot, Hermione."

She released another breath.

"Here goes."

She dropped the four cubes into the clay pot, one by one, almost sure that she had failed.

Her lips parted in surprise the next moment—the pot convulsed, for some reason, and began shrinking to the size she had intended, nay, _carved_ on the cubes and she felt her spirits lift and her heartbeat increase at the same time—she looked up at Tom with amazed eyes.

"It worked."

He, too, was dumbfounded. But he took lesser time to recover and when he looked at her next, she thought she caught a strange sheen of hunger and excitement written in his eyes—he looked troubled and exuberant at the same time and she couldn't help feeling hypnotised by his awed features and she felt mesmerised by the blackening greys of his eyes—she looked away, embarrassed that she too was almost ogling at him.

He did not seem to have noticed, though.

" _Do you realise what this means, Hermione_?" He leaned forward, his face inches away from hers and the intensity in his voice reached a hitherto unknown corner of her heart, wringing it into a strange emotion. "It means that with enough knowledge and effort, we could create any magical spell we wanted. _Anything at all._ Nothing will be outside the realm of possibility for us. And with these cubes, you don't even need a wand to direct your magic. If you've worked hard and practised enough, it would be perfect. _This is fantastic_!"

She noted how he said ' _us_ ' and not ' _you'_.

She felt his enthusiasm in her heart; he had never looked so open and joyous previously and she felt happy that he reacted with so much hope at her skill.

His joy was infectious.

"Do you think I could create a spell for my memory with these cubes?" She looked at the objects lying innocently in her upturned hand. "I need—I _need_ it back... it bothers me too much to not know, to not remember..."

She ran a hand through her hair, sighing slightly.

His face went blank and it looked like he hadn't even heard her.

"I will look it up, sweet Hermione," he said softly and reached for her hand. It was cold to touch. "Your predicament bothers me and we will find a way to heal you, I promise."

"I understand, Tom. If it were that easy, I would have found a way by now or at least you would have known something about it," she said sadly and lowered her head. She felt her eyes sting a little but she wouldn't cry. She was not weak. "I just... want to belong you know. I am like a ship without harbour, sailing the oceans aimlessly."

Tom's hands twitched a little as he caressed the skin on her fingers. "I know how you feel, Hermione." He stared into her eyes with an expression of dark melancholy, mirroring his soul and for some reason, Hermione felt more lost than ever. "I just want you to know that no matter what happens, you will belong here _. In this world_. And I will always be your best friend, if you'll have me, in good times and bad."

Hermione's heart warmed at his words and she found that she could not control her emotions anymore—tears overflowed the brim of her eyes and she felt a large drop slide down her cheek.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to embarrass myself so badly." She wiped it off with the back of her hand and looked away.

He squeezed her hand lightly and left his seat. "Come on. I think a little dance would cheer you up."

She looked at his proffered hand and wondered if she should take it. She didn't know if she could dance. In the end, she decided to take a chance. She stood up and looked at the Arithmancy Cubes lying scattered on the table.

"I'll keep them with me for now." Tom pocketed them and looked at her meaningfully. "They are very hard to come by, you know. This way, they won't be lost and we could practice together—improve upon your skills and so forth—don't you agree?"

His silver eyes shone brightly under the dim, darkening light and she found herself agreeing for no reason at all.

She put her hand in his—her small fingers entwining themselves around his considerably larger but thin fingers and she found herself drawn towards the dancing floor, driven by soft waltz pieces playing on the enchanted piano in the background and she knew that they had become the centre of attention very suddenly—she dragged her feet unceremoniously on the ground, taking care not to stumble and watched as he led her to the floor with practiced ease and graced her with a devilish smile.

The rest of her night passed in silent dreaming.

* * *

Hello people, another chapter.

Huh.

So I'm going to have to ask: do u like the story? Do u like where it's going? Is it believable a all or am i just rambling, out of my element and mind.

Anyway, I hope you tell me. Do you like my Tom? I never pictured him as being blatantly nasty and abusive, you know. So... i don't know, just tell me please. or ask me to stop if u think this is bad and I can save myself the trouble.

Love,

Lucrece.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Tom sat on his bed, staring into empty space.

 _Was it possible?_

He turned the ring over in his hand—the blood red colour was jaded and dark; the etched Hallows' mark was prominent and deep—he wondered why he had never noticed it previously.

 _Why was he afraid of dying?_

For as long as he could recall, the unknown had inspired deep hatred and fear in him.

His silver eyes swept the room briefly; it was dark, richly carpeted and furnished in the best of taste—the Head boy quarters were lavishly adorned and well-kept. The dark green wallpaper, the small private fireplace he had right across his large bed and a large bookcase on one side: all gave off signs of comfort and neat living habits.

He _was_ neat.

But _that_ was not his concern right now.

He turned the ring over and over, looking for a sign, a clue... anything that could guide him.

 _Should he simply rub and wish, like the Arabian Nights lamp?_

If this ring was one of the Hallows, if the folktales were true and he truly possessed one of them, then perhaps a new aspect of the world would be laid bare for him to explore and conquer...

He scowled at the object.

" _Mother_ ," he whispered, keenly aware of the silence around him. There was no one else he could think of. "I—I want to see Merope—Gaunt."

He waited.

A few seconds passed.

 _What the...?_

To his consternation and deep surprise, a small, wispy figure seemed to unfurl from the ground, covered in a cloak of smoke and haze and he found his heartbeat quicken.

The woman was nothing like him, with her unattractive face and hollow eyes; Tom almost cringed at the thought that _this_ — _she_ —could have given birth to him. But she had, he knew that. And it meant so many other things as well—so much material to mull over but he would do that later, for right now he had to deal with this apparition hovering above the floor in his room and he found himself sweating slightly—he composed himself and coughed uncertainly.

"Who are you?" he croaked, his voice barely reaching his own ears but it seemed like she had heard him.

The figure looked at him and past him, both at the same time, before she floated away from his bedside.

"Merope?" he asked again.

 _It was her, wasn't it?_

She looked back; her round eyes sorrowful and bleak and he felt a little twinge of something—no, it wasn't an emotion that he was familiar with and it left an unpleasant taste in his mouth.

"That is what they called me. The ugly hag Merope Gaunt," she whispered in a low voice. Her eyes travelled to his face and he found himself shuddering. "But you look nothing like me."

He swallowed.

He knew that.

He had, after all, murdered his father only this summer.

"You killed him," she murmured in a sad tone, giving him an eerie smile. He knew that she was talking about his father.

"He deserved every bit of it." He clenched his jaw, brows furrowing in deep resentment and barely suppressed anger. "He deserved no less, _mother_ , much like _you_."

The hollow figure said nothing—no emotions crossed her face but a sad look of longing and pain could be discerned in her eyes—Tom looked on with an expressionless mask on his face; he ignored the strange fear welling up in his chest, he got rid of the disagreeable twinge in his heart and his fingers curled into fists.

"Why have you called me here?" Merope ran her translucent hand through his bookshelf and waited. "I see much of what you have become, Tom, and it makes me sad..."

Tom stared resolutely at the ring on his finger, unblinking.

"You abandoned me, Merope. You were weak and unworthy of the Slytherin lineage; you have no right to pass judgement on me when you could not raise your wand to save your own life," he bit out at her, his silver eyes cracking into reddish hues in corners. "I wish that you were alive so that I could kill you like I did my father." The viciousness in his own tone was alien to him—he always took care to be polite and courteous to people, even when he wanted to strangle them—he did not like losing his sense of control.

She stared at him.

No shock. No remorse. No overbearing sadness.

Nothing.

A few minutes passed and neither of them said anything.

 _This is stupid_ , he decided. There was nothing more to be gained by conversing with a dead woman.

He rubbed at the stone once more, wishing her away, and drew a deep breath.

The Hallows were real.

All he had to do now was trace out the Elder Wand.

* * *

 _Why was he so afraid of dying?_

 _What made death appear so very agonising and utterly impossible in his mind?_

 _Why_?

Tom sharpened his pencil carefully. He liked to partake of these simple, menial activities without resorting to magic at times.

He had already taken the steps to avoid it, having come a far way by then in evading the unknown entity, and yet—the doubt always lingered in his mind, pushing him farther and deeper and he knew that there was no going back even if he wished—his deathlessness was a fact.

He wondered about a lot many things during breakfast and this was one of them.

He had seen her the previous night.

A shadow.

Merope Gaunt was a shadow.

 _Was this what death was like?_

"Aren't you going to finish your breakfast, Tom?" His girlfriend leaned across the table and looked into his eyes. She had bright green eyes, kind of round and open—her face was beautiful and shapely; her hair sleek and black, drawn down to her waist like a silken serpent—she was Slytherin to the core and he admired her craftiness.

Apart from this, there wasn't much else to her existence.

"I will get to it, darling. I just need to be ready for the Potions class, right?"

 _She was his insurance against failur_ e, he thought as she gave him a small, suspicious smile and returned to chatting with one of her friends. He suffered her presence around him and her name attached to his for the simple reason that her family was one of the most powerful ones in England, surpassing Malfoy and many others in wealth and influence.

He sipped his pumpkin juice in silence, keeping an eye on everyone around him. The Slytherins were a cunning lot, as compared to other houses. But he was smarter and more corrupted than any of them.

He had ventured far into the realm of magic, farther than any of his peers could even conceive of in their wildest dreams and he had succeeded.

Malfoy was whispering something to Lestrange, a quiet boy with a pointed face and curly hair. Tom always felt that something was strangely off about him and he could never figure out what it was. Avery and Mulciber were sniggering in a corner and judging by the identical leers plastered on their faces, they had to be talking about women. Goyle wolfed down food as if there would be no tomorrow and Crabbe seemed... wistful, for some reason.

His eyes went back to Leanne. She had a pretty face, definitely. But her magical powers were not in keeping with her lineage—sometimes it made him consider if birth and lineage were really that important when it came to the innate power that one wielded—surely, if he, a half-blood, was more powerful than the entire bunch of pureblood heirs combined, there must be something wrong with the theory. He had seen most of them perform abysmally at the simplest tasks. And many of the Gryffindor Mudbloods had excelled under his very nose.

 _Was it an anomaly or a fact?_

"Are you ready to go?" he asked Leanne, stretching his arms a bit and slinging his bag over his left shoulder. She gathered her books and left the table, keeping up with his pace as she tied her hair in a ponytail.

"Slughorn's going to give us a test, isn't he?"

"I am not supposed to tell but yes, he is." He gave her a sneaky, conspiratorial smile. "I'll let you look over my notes in the first half, don't worry," he added when she seemed nervous and put his arm around her waist, drawing her closer.

She blushed and looked down.

 _What wastage of human space and privilege_ , he thought. If he had had her wealth and influence from the very beginning, he would be in an entirely different place right now.

 _But she was just his insurance policy against... uncertainties._

And that was that.

* * *

Slughorn's class was grating on his nerves.

It dragged on and he found his attention wandering. Leanne had his notes tucked between her thighs covered in an ample skirt, a floral design with bright colours, and she was muttering rapidly under her breath. He couldn't help but roll his eyes at the spectacle; she had never scored beyond a sixty percent and even with his detailed notes, he was sure that she wouldn't be able to breach that mark.

His attention went to the file in his hands instead.

Gregorovitch.

It had all the information he needed about the wand-maker, compiled by Lestrange at his behest, and Tom was pleased to find that he was moving in the right direction.

Gregorovitch was rumoured to have possessed the wand last, before it disappeared out of human memory.

"Tom," Malfoy said, leaning forward across his bench. "The boys want to do something fun tonight. We've been here a few weeks without any action and the stress is mounting."

He arched an eyebrow at the blonde boy. Abraxas was getting out of hand, taking initiatives on his own and presuming things.

He needed to be reined in.

Gregorovitch.

He would have to find him.

"What do you have in mind?"

He leaned closer, his face barely suppressing excitement and Tom found himself feeling repulsed by the boy's... enthusiasm.

"The Moonstone ritual should keep them quiet for a while, don't you think?" Malfoy said, grabbing the side of his desk to edge closer. "We could do it tonight; there is enough time to-"

"No."

Abraxas was taken aback. "No?"

"No, Abraxas. Your idea is ludicrous." Tom scratched behind his ear and closed the file. "I have a better plan. We will go for an expedition around Halloween and it will teach you a lot more than you desire to learn."

Malfoy looked apprehensive and confused.

"Halloween? But how will we ever get the permission to leave the school premises?"

Tom was beginning to get annoyed with him.

"You just wait for my instructions, alright. I will take care of it," he snapped at the boy. At the same time, Slughorn clapped his hands and announced that there would be a surprise quiz that day.

He glanced at Leanne and found himself amused at the purple hue in her face. She had crammed too much in too little time and her head must be exploding, apparently.

* * *

"I wonder if my parents are alive." She smoked away a whiff and glanced up at the sky.

"Why would you care? You have a good thing going for you and you're all grown up, anyway. What difference would it make?" he asked curiously.

They were seated on the crumbling steps that led up to the shack. It was old and abandoned and as far as Hermione knew, from what Mrs. Buckstein had told her, it had not been inhabited for the past ten years. Tom was equally clueless; he had merely shrugged his shoulders when she had suggested that they venture out of the village for a stroll.

It was a nice place too, overlooking an entire valley of sorts.

"I don't know... I mean it would be nice to have a family, you know—the kind that cares for you without expecting anything in return, to have roots somewhere, I suppose—I wish I could remember, you know. Maybe I have a mother out there, waiting for me to return to her and perhaps a sibling or two... but I won't know about them until I have my memories back," she finished wistfully.

Tom looked lost and, dare she say it, troubled.

He didn't look into her eyes and smoked away his cigarette quickly.

"Do you know what happened to your parents, Tom?"

She wasn't sure if she should broach the subject but she was curious. And this time, like any other time, was the right one.

He shifted.

"No." He crushed the remaining stub between his fingers; it must have hurt but he didn't cringe. "I was left at the doorstep of Wool's orphanage one night and there is nothing they know about my... _family_."

"Oh."

So he had been abandoned.

That... sucked.

Neither of them spoke for a long while after that, silently contemplating their existence.

"But don't you ever wonder—" she began but he gave her a scathing look.

" _That is enough, Hermione_. I will not discuss this again."

His tone was sharp and she noticed that his lips were pressed into a thin line, expressing contempt—she shut up and threw away her cigarette.

"Why are you wearing that ridiculous thing?" It was his turn to question now.

"What, _this_?" She gestured at her short skirt and frowned. It was actually a divider and she found it extremely comfortable.

"Yes. It isn't very personable, is it?" he muttered, raising a perfect eyebrow at the indignant look on her face. "Some people might get the wrong idea."

"It's a perfectly nice outfit; it is presentable and provides me enough mobility to do my chores." she huffed. "And if you don't stop being grumpy, grouchy granddad, I will get up and leave."

He paused for a second at her words and then crossed his arms.

"Then leave. Go."

 _Ah_.

She liked this game.

He played it too often.

A mischievous idea took shape in his mind and she gave him a tilted smile.

She slid closer to him and ran her finger down his arm. "Why would I leave when I can have so much more fun sitting here, Mr Riddle?" His eyes narrowed at her antics but he kept his mouth shut. "Maybe I will stay, for all your ill-mannerisms and your sharp tongue, and try to... entice you with my many charms."

She moved closer, sticking out her pink tongue and making a show of trying to lick his ear.

"Quit being ridiculous, Hermione." He removed her hands from his person and shook his head at her. "We do have better things to talk about than the length of your skirt and my grouchiness."

She gave him a triumphant smile. "My point exactly."

His brow furrowed, deep indentation marks clouding his forehead and she sobered out of her mischievous mood. Whenever his face turned serious like that, it would be an indication that he was not in a mood to entertain silliness.

"I'm planning to go to Germany over Halloween."

"Germany? Why?" She frowned at him. His eyes were fixed at some obscure point on the ground and she found herself scanning his features clinically, absently: a strong jaw, bright silver eyes and thin stern lips—they all lent credulity and endurance to his face and she found herself wondering what gave his eyes that distinct, charming light—even his dark hair was carefully combed and styled to perfection.

"There is someone I need to locate—a certain someone who is very important to me at this time and for the sake of their secrecy and benefit, I cannot reveal to you who they are just yet, not unless you do decide to come with me—but the question remains: do you want to come? I know that the village closes down for a week during Halloween, so missing work shouldn't be an issue."

Hermione pouted, running her tongue over her teeth.

"Germany?"

 _Did she want to go?_

 _Hell, yeah_.

"Will it be just the two of us?" she asked, turning over pros and cons in her mind.

To her joy, she couldn't find many cons.

"No," he said. "A couple of my friends will be joining us. It won't be easy, mind you. The German landscape is currently ravaged by a civil war—there will be certain dangers ahead and we would have to prepare for any eventuality—."

She ran a hand over her parched lips.

"The civil war—it's all because of that Grindelwald, isn't t? I read the Daily Prophet yesterday: his acts and goals are loathsome."

"He's trying to build an empire," Tom countered. "Revolutions are always bloody, aren't they?"

She reached for his cigarette pack and pried it open with her thin fingers.

 _The last one left_ , she thought and lit it with her wand.

"I don't know about that but if it were me, I wouldn't build an empire on corpses."

Tom put his chin in his palms and looked at her sideways. "Why not? Grindelwald appeals to the ideology of the Greater Good. Wouldn't that be... preferable to a lifetime, no, infinity of mediocrity and chaos?"

She shrugged. "The path to hell is paved with good intentions, Tom. Fair means have to be chosen for a path that is just or else things will fall apart. Besides, who gives me the right to decide what the Greater Good is. No, I wouldn't be so conceited as to presume that I know all and am the end of all."

Tom's eyes were searching, a look of deep thought written in them. A little shadow of doubt crept into the fines shades of grey in his eyes and she thought that he looked perplexed, if only for a moment.

"Interesting," he remarked and threw down his stub.

From his pocket, he drew four white cubes and tossed them on the floor before him.

"Are you ready to try a spell that is more advanced than simple transfigurations?"

He caught her by surprise then, but she recovered quickly and scooped the dice into her empty palm.

"What should I try?"

"Incendio?" Tom prompted. "Use that log of wood over there. It won't be easy but if you concentrate, you should at least be able to create a spark."

 _A spark?_

 _Did he think so little of her capabilities_?

She made a face at his presumption and rolled the dice between her fingers.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, reaching for the magic within her .At first, she felt nothing. But the soft material of arithmancy cubes created a link from her skin to a hitherto unknown place within her— she felt it in her bones, her _magic_ , it hummed in her veins and she could feel raw energy accumulate and heat up her palms and she knew that she would be able to do it in the first attempt—she opened her eyes and looked at Tom.

He seemed so distant.

"Are you ready?"

She felt the warmth in her hands and flicked off some ash. Her cigarette had almost ended and there was time for just one last whiff.

The smoke left her nostrils and she aimed for the log.

The white cubes hit the wood and it erupted in violent flames, crackling like a mad woman, recently freed from prison and ready to wreak havoc upon the world.

She clicked her tongue in victory.

"I think I did more than just create a _spark_ , Tom." She beamed at him triumphantly, cracking her knuckles.

"You've outdone yourself," he admitted, getting up. "I think that it would be in both our interests if we meet more frequently and train for longer periods henceforth."

He offered her a hand.

She took it, unfolding her legs rather languorously as she got up. "I'd like that. But will you have enough time, with school and extracurricular activities?"

His lips crinkled upwards at her question. "I have all the time in the world, Hermione."

* * *

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	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

* * *

"These are my friends: Lestrange, Avery, Mulciber and... You know Malfoy, of course," Tom pointed out each one of the boys to her. She noticed that his lips quirked upwards when he spoke out Malfoy's name. "Everyone, this is Hermione, a good friend of mine."

 _Of course._

"How does she know Abraxas though?" Mulciber, a plump boy with a boyish face and sandy-coloured hair, asked curiously. "I mean—why has she been introduced before us? Does he get extra privilege for being a brat?"

The rest of them sniggered, that is, everyone except Malfoy and she realised that they didn't like him very much either.

 _Good_.

"Oh, you know it's actually a very different story altogether." She waved away his question in good humour, not giving Tom an opportunity to respond. "A really funny incident, honestly, if you ask me... I know him because I beat the crap out of his ass one fine Sunday morning."

"Shut up, you bitch—"Abraxas growled, thumping the table with his fists.

"Language, Malfoy," Tom commented casually and tilted his head towards her. "I expect decency and respect for every friend of mine."

Malfoy looked revolted.

Maybe this won't be so bad.

"What, and she can spew profanities at me all she likes, in front of the whole crowd, no less, and I have to sit here and listen to this shit—"

Tom surveyed his nails absently.

"In all fairness, Abraxas, she did beat the crap out of you."

Roaring bout of laughter broke out at the table and Hermione found herself enjoying her evening with the group.

 _This was fun._

"You know, Abraxas, I could give you pointers on proper duelling..." She was egging him on, she knew it. But it felt so good to press his buttons—she had not felt this relaxed in weeks."But of course, I charge for my services."

Malfoy almost went purple in the face for a few seconds but he recovered soon and sobered up, wiping all signs of anger and annoyance off his features and she knew that he was ready for a comeback.

"I don't really hire women to take care of my business, Hermione..." he said, softly scratching at the table. "You see, I am fortunate enough to be the heir of a very prestigious family of purebloods and women swoon before me left and right... So... no, _thank_ _you_. I appreciate the offer though, but as a man of discerning tastes, I must decline your less than abysmal services..."

Hermione almost choked on her drink; he had turned her ' _services'_ phrase into something obscene and she could feel all eyes trained on her.

 _Very well done, Malfoy._

"Such pretty words and such candour, Malfoy. Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?" She flashed him a grin. "In any case, it's your loss, my dear. I happen to have a very wild imagination and a wilder reputation, if you know what I mean. I would have loved to smack that blonde, beautiful arse of yours into glorious swoons of ecstasy."

She didn't get the desired chuckles of humour at her remark.

If anything, the table went quiet.

From the look on Tom's face, she could read that she had uttered something wrong.

He scowled at her.

Everyone else was looking at their neighbours with raised eyebrows and Malloy smirked at her in derision.

 _What_?

"I told you she was loose," Malfoy said and lit a thin, brown-coloured cigarette. "A strumpet of the lesser degree."

 _What_?

Hermione felt anger rise within her at his words.

 _The little dimwit_.

She won't let him insult her like that.

Already, the other boys were averting eyes away from her.

She leaned forward, her brows drawn into a thin arc and her nostrils flaring. "As if you would know a _slut_ from a _virgin_ , dunghead." She chewed each word, spitting through her tongue as much as she could. "But enough nonsense, I am not here to listen to you trash my character and skills. Tom called me here, just like you, every one of you, and I am here at his invitation. So shut your trap and let us hear what he has to say. And if you fling one more insult my way, I will draw my wand," she finished viciously.

He was about to open his mouth and retort when Tom gave him a sharp look sideways and the words died in his mouth.

He pursed his lips tightly and downed his Firewhiskey.

"We leave for Germany tomorrow." Tom unfurled a roll of parchment on the table ad tapped it with his wand. Tiny dots and crosses appeared. "We'll take a Portkey to the village of Heldra from thereon and find out about more about Gregorovitch. We'll track him down and return here on time. As for you lot, I want you all to pack the bare minimum—essential for survival and no more. There might be some danger in the forests—we'll simply have to play it by the ear."

"Are we going to use the government assigned Portkey right outside the Forbidden forest?" Lestrange asked first, his brows drawn together in thoughtfulness.

"Yes. I don't want to risk using an illegal one, especially at times like these. Leanne's uncle has graciously pulled some strings at the Ministry and allowed us the use of one at no cost."

Hermione was itching to ask Tom what a Portkey was but she refrained.

Something told her that she should keep her mouth shut.

Who was Leanne?

"Why are we looking for this... Gregoro-whatshit?" Malfoy was still seething from his humiliation.

"You're full of questions today, aren't you, Malfoy?" Tom paused and rolled back his map or whatever it was. Hermione hadn't really paid attention whilst he was tapping and now it was already too late. "Suffice it when I say that this is important. You do have the choice of not accompanying us, of course."

Malfoy's eyes registered an unknown fear at Tom's words.

Tom, meanwhile, was studying his nails casually, listlessly, as he waited for Abraxas's answer.

"Well?" he enquired softly, after a long time.

Abraxas was visibly discomfited; his brows crinkled and he licked his lips.

"It's—enough. I want to come."

Tom stared at him.

A hint of smirk spread over his thin lips.

"That does it then. Let's pack up here and be on our ways. We have a long journey before us tomorrow and I don't want to be late."

The boys began to leave, one by one, and Hermione too packed her bag. She was about to leave when Tom dragged her aside, a sense of urgency spread on his features, and gave her a small pep talk.

"Do you really want to come, Hermione?"

"I suppose, yeah." She looked at him in confusion. "Why?"

Tom frowned at her, closing his eyes. "It's going to be dangerous."

"Why are you looking for that man?"

She had asked him the same question that Malfoy had, but she knew that he wouldn't censure her.

"It's—complicated. I will only know when I get there; don't ask me too much right now, Hermione, because I do not know myself." He ran a hand through his silky black hair and his face looked troubled. "That's not important right now. If you're going to come with us, you must remember that no one amongst those people is your friend, okay. Don't trust anybody, not even the best of them. And under no circumstances must you let them know that you, that _we_ , met at the orphanage. Alright?"

Hermione was perplexed.

"I suppose, yeah." She fingered the string of her purse. "Why?"

Tom bit his lip.

"It won't go down with them well if they knew—they are brats, Hermione. Rich, over-privileged pureblood brats and nothing more—"

"—I thought they were your friends."

"Friends." Tom snorted. "No, they are not my friends. At least, they wouldn't be if they knew where I come from. But they've accepted me, you see—you're still an outsider. Maintain caution and discretion at all costs, okay. Can I depend on you to keep our secret?"

Her jaw tightened. "Of course you can Tom. Nobody should be looked down upon or discriminated against because of where they came from. Why are you friends with them if—you know, they wouldn't accept the truth of your existence... Surely, you don't have to hang out with them."

" _It isn't my truth,_ " he persisted, his voice growing closer to a hiss and Hermione had to look away from the damnation in his face. _Damnation_? "We're both special, aren't we? It doesn't matter where we come from. What matters is the place to which we are going. I won't let some snotty pureblood brats look down on me because of what I was born into. Hence, I keep up the appearances."

She understood his view point but she didn't necessarily agree.

"I won't blow your story, I promise," she found herself saying automatically. "But I won't treat them nice if they provoke me."

Tom threw down a few silver pieces on the table. "You will have my sincerest support and sympathy for all your acts of omission and commission."

She grinned at him.

 _Her friend._

"Be ready."

* * *

"So where'd you grow up?" His voice was gruff, Hermione noticed.

Avery was a thin boy with auburn curls and a dimpled face—he kept his hands buried deep in his pockets and kept straightening his glasses over his nose—he seemed harmless and amiable.

And yet, Tom had categorically told her to trust no one.

She matched steps with Avery as they plodded on through the Forbidden Forest. Just up ahead, Tom walked with Malfoy and Mulciber. Lestrange trotted behind them, a solitary and thoughtful look plastered on his face. His dark eyes made her feel uncomfortable at times and she was thankful that he didn't look her way too often.

And for some strange, unfathomable, ludicrous reason, she was stuck with Avery.

"In London, mostly." She kept her sentences short. She would have to evade as quickly as possible, lest he begin questioning about her family and so forth.

"So you've never been to the country? You don't know what you're missing then," he said. "Country is the best place to be, especially in summers."

She hopped over a fallen tree branch, the leaves crumbling under her heavy boots.

The day was bright and fine.

She caught sight of many animals here and there but they scampered off as soon as they noticed the wizards in their midst.

"I guess you know Tom through the city then, since he's from London as well," Avery began again, catching up with her. "Are your families close?"

She panicked for a moment.

She was wracking her mind for a suitable answer when suddenly an arrow whooshed past, over her head, and lodged in the tree behind her.

 _What_?

She ducked immediately, grabbing the other boy down with her and called out to Tom.

"Tom!"

She need not have bothered.

He was already running towards them, with Malfoy and Lestrange close on his heels.

"What? What happened?"

Avery's frightened voice was too shrill.

Tom dislodged the arrow from the wood and his jaw tightened.

" _Centaurs_."

Lestrange offered Hermione a hand and pulled her up.

She shrugged the dust off her skirt.

"What do we do?" she asked urgently.

"Centaurs are proud people," Tom frowned. "We have trespassed on their territory. Unknowingly."

"What—"

"That is correct, human," a voice—deep, ancient and surreal—spoke out from behind a thicket of trees. "You speak wisely and yet you have dared besmirch the territory of our forefathers."

Two centaurs stepped out of the grove; they were tall and muscular, their skin drawn fast over their chests and they seemed to have identical red hair—perhaps they were twins.

"We were just passing through. I am a Malfoy, belonging to one of the oldest lineages amongst wizards, if you must. You might have heard of my grandfather, Aldous Malfoy. If you'll step aside, we'll be on our way and—"

 _He had to open his mouth, didn't he?_

The centaur closer to him almost hissed and struck his javelin on the ground, his nostrils flaring in anger. "You dare order us, the wisest of all creations on earth? "

Tom seemed to have regained his composure by now for he stepped forward. Lestrange, Hermione and Avery stood rooted to the spot, not daring to move.

"You must pardon my companion," Tom said, his voice laced with sugary sweetness and vulnerability. It _had_ to be a show. "He is foolish."

The centaur in the front slung his bow over his shoulder and tapped the ground with his front hooves.

"That he is. Regardless, you have still dared trample the holy earth of our realm," he said.

"They're merely children, Ronan," the other one placated him "We should let them go with a warning."

"Children—"He stroked his beard thoughtfully, his eyes scanning each one of them. "Yes. But she is wrong to be here—she isn't supposed to be here."

He looked at his companion meaningfully.

Hermione was confused.

 _Were they talking about her?  
_

"Perhaps the stars have lied," Ronan's twin replied, drawing himself up. "She must be an aberration."

"Time doesn't entertain aberrations."

"—perhaps it had good reason. And if she's here, the others must be here too."

"Excuse me," Hermione found her voice and courage again, "are you two talking about me?"

They both looked at her as if they had just noticed that she was there.

"You lot can pass," Ronan gestured to Tom, waving a naked arrow in the opposite direction. "But if we find you trespassing again, we will not be lenient. Take heed."

Tom took a short bow.

"Your kindness will be remembered and repaid, if possible," he said softly.

He gestured to others to follow him quickly and the centaurs stayed where they were, looking onwards with stony expressions plastered on their faces.

Hermione thought she saw confusion and bewilderment on Tom's face; Malfoy looked shit-scared and Lestrange was unreadable. Avery and Mulciber too had their brows drawn as they walked quickly, rather keen to make a getaway,

She snuck a look backwards, her hair shading her eyes from open view...

They were both watching her.

 _Her_.

* * *

The pub was loud.

Finding the village hadn't been that hard, once they had all been portkeyed from thin air, landing on their stomachs at the assigned point.

Hermione had cursed.

So had Tom.

 _So that was a Portkey._

Not bad.

Their trip to the German lands had hardly taken a few minutes and here they were, making their stop at the first village in sight and staying overnight in a strange land.

They had four rooms. Tom and Hermione each had one and the other boys had to share.

They had changed and deposited their scanty belongings, washing up before dinner and Tom had decided that they should join the crowd downstairs.

So here she was, sitting in a corner, sipping her drink (a strong one) quietly. The centaurs had rattled her.

 _An aberration._

 _She?_

 _What the hell did that even mean?_

Tom was at the innkeeper's table, conversing intently. Malfoy was salivating all over some poor wench, buying her drinks one after another and she looked away in disgust. Lestrange seemed to prefer silence and solitude, from what she had encountered so far and he stayed seated in a corner, just like her. Avery and Mulciber were playing cards with a group of Germans; she didn't think they knew what they were doing because the Germans at their table didn't seem to understand English.

 _Oh well._

And she was here.

And she was afraid that she had drunk a little too much.

"Do you mind if I join you?"

It was Lestrange. She hadn't even realised that he had left his perch by the window. The boy was too quiet for his own good.

"You almost gave me a heart-attack," she said, her hand resting on her chest. "Sit down, please. It's nice to have company."

"Likewise." He lit a cigarette and offered it to Hermione but she refused and went back to her drink.

It was a vile concoction but effective.

She could already feel her head buzz.

They both sat in companionable silence, observing their fellow lodgers.

"You know, Hermione, I don't talk a lot." He leaned forwards, fixing her with a penetrating stare. She felt woozy. "But I cannot help being curious about you. Why are you here, with us? It isn't very lady-like; it's hardly something a girl your age would get into—I know that Tom can be quite persuasive and radically charming and I am suspicious that perhaps it was his idea altogether and you don't appreciate the dangers involved..."

"Oh, absolutely not." She waved away his question flippantly. She had had too much and everything serious was so—boring. "He insisted that I stay back, you know, because it was dangerous or something—I refused, I mean who would give up a chance to see another country, and that too with him, no less—he's charming but not _so_ charming... What was I saying?"

 _She sounded stupid._

 _God._

She scratched her head and glanced at Tom.

He was still engrossed in deep conversation with the innkeeper.

 _Why wouldn't he just stop and join them already?_

"Oh." Lestrange's eyes glittered in interest. "So have you known him long?"

"Long enough." She clicked her tongue. "He's my best friend."

There was something wrong with this conversation.

She wasn't supposed to—her head hurt.

 _What was mixed in that stupid drink?_

"That's funny. I don't recall him ever talking about you."

"Oh? Yeah." She squinted at him. "That's probably because we met during vacations and he didn't have a chance to—I don't know." She shrugged.

"A few months, then." Lestrange sidled towards her, closer to her ear and whispered, "You don't know him very well then, do you?"

"I know him well enough," she snapped, crossing her arms. "You know something—I don't like you very much."

"Why is that?"

"You ask too many questions," she slurred, her head swimming in a dangerous haze of fear and comfort. This boy was not—good. "Go sit with Malfoy and fool around with that girl or something. I don't want to talk to you anymore," she finished childishly.

"Hey, I was just trying to be friendly!"

She opened her eyes wide and tried to put him into focus. "Really?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

She went back to gazing at her glass moodily, pouting. "It's been lonely, I guess."

"At the bookshop?"

"Yeah."

"I understand." Lestrange put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a small squeeze. "You like him, don't you?"

"Who?"

"Tom, of course."

She paused.

"I don't know."

"Well, I think you do."

She shrugged and went back to drinking, emptying the entire vessel in one go. It burned her throat.

She had never drunk that much in her entire life.

Probably.

She reached for some water but her hand accidentally pushed the glass and it fell down on the floor with a loud crash.

She cursed.

"Is everything alright here?" That was Tom's voice.

 _Tom_.

 _How had he reached them so quickly?_

"Yeah, I think." She grabbed her head and leaned against the table. "I don't feel very well."

"She's had too much to drink," Lestrange commented from her side.

"Come on. Let's bring you to your room so that you can rest," Tom said and grabbed her arm. She leaned against his side, swaying dangerously but the smell of his perfume was rather—nice. He put an arm around her shoulder and she rested her entire weight against him. "You're an idiot for drinking that much."

She mumbled something incoherent and closed her eyes, feeling a primal sense of comfort and shelter.

She didn't like Lestrange one bit.

 _You like him_ , he had said.

"Hermione?" Tom jerked her shoulder. "Stay awake, okay. Let's go to your room and you can sleep there. Now be a good girl and move your legs."

She giggled inanely at his words.

"I'll get down it right away," she stuttered. "But before that, I just need to check something."

And without another word, she grabbed his head and landed a very wet, improper kiss on his lips—interlocking her teeth with his and tried to pry her slick tongue through the small opening of his mouth, rolling it languorously—he resisted at first, his grip on her arm tightened and she thought that he would push her away because this is not what they were and it wasn't the right thing to do and they had audience...

But he didn't push her away.

Instead, he _responded_.

He responded by nibbling at her upper lip, quietly, desperately and she felt drawn—she clutched his collar and dragged him to her height, constantly attacking his mouth with her own—lacerating her need for something, a hidden, seething something and it had to stop...

"I told you she was a slut."

 _Malfoy_.

The despicable, blonde _baboon_.

In a flash, she pushed Tom away and yanked out her wand—Malfoy, who stood quite close to their table had apparently made the comment to Lestrange, who looked rather uninterested—she brought down her wand to his chest in one fluid motion before he could make a move.

"Fight me, you coward," she challenged him, her stupor receding to the background in the wake of a strong surge of adrenaline coursing through her. "And when you lose, you dirty toe rag, you take a pledge to never, ever utter another word of insult for me. _Fight me."_

"That won't be necessary," Tom commented; he had apparently managed to regain his balance and composure in the face of this spectacle. "Malfoy, apologise right now and leave. Hermione, lower you wand; we're all friends here."

"Why should I apologise?" Malfoy crossed his arms in defiance. "She is the one who insulted me, calling me scum. I merely stated a fact: she is a _whore_."

He drew out the last syllable for the longest while, enjoying throwing it all in her face.

"You jerk! I won't be responsible for what happens next," she said viciously, jabbing her wand into the chest. " _Flume_ —"

The curse, before she could utter it in its entirety, was blocked by Tom.

He snapped his fingers and Hermione's wand slipped from her grasp, landing in his open palm.

"Break it up, you lot!" the innkeeper called out. "Retire to your room now or I'll throw you out. No fighting in my bar. Off with you!"

"That's enough, Hermione," Tom said in a low voice, gnashing his teeth. "Don't forget where you are."

He dragged her away struggling.

"He abused me again, Tom. That jerk—"she protested weakly, being drawn away from the crowd against her will. " _How dare him! Who does he think he is?"_

Tom said nothing, keeping his lips pursed and his eyes watchful.

She lost her footing on the staircase twice and was still fuming when they reached her room.

Once inside, he locked the room behind him and flung her wand aside.

" _Have you completely lost your mind?"_

"What?"

"How could you be so idiotic—no, this was beyond idiocy—"

"You're censuring _me_?" she asked, outraged. "What the fuck—that Malfoy, I hate him!"

She almost swayed when she started to punch the table close to her.

The inebriation was returning.

She groaned, clutching her head tightly. "You're being a jerk, right now."

A brief pause.

No voice issued froth.

"Rest." A slight creak of the door. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

The door shut with a loud slam, but not before she had managed to fling a vase at him.

She didn't know if she hit her mark.

 _Probably not_.

* * *

Tom tightened his hands around the iron railing, looking out of the common balcony.

It was late in the night and most inmates had retired to their beds.

"She's not very stable, is she?" Malfoy commented from behind him. He hadn't noticed the Abraxas had entered. "That was quite a spectacle."

Tom scowled at the forest that spread bleak and dark into the night, overshadowing land and horizon. That was the forest they would have to brave to reach the other side tomorrow.

"She had too much to drink." He bit his lip. "And you went overboard with your provocations and insults, Malfoy. Not that it isn't amusing to watch the two of you at loggerheads all the time, but it is really beginning to annoy me and if it hampers my plans, someone will have to pay."

Malfoy almost cringed at Tom's words.

He had no doubts about _who_ it would be that _paid_.

"I was simply testing her limits."

"You had no reason to do so, Abraxas. Besides, I am quite aware of her vulnerabilities and her short temper." He gazed at the waning moon and sighed. "Don't get too involved. I am quite capable of training her."

"Is that why she's here? I mean, let's face it: we don't need her here. She's more of interference, really. And I cannot understand why—"

"Exactly," Tom cut him short. "It is because you _cannot_ _understand_ that you need to stop interfering and goading your companions. You're extremely good at riling up people, granted, but it isn't needed."

Malfoy looked unconvinced but he gave way. "I'll take care to keep my _trap_ shut."

For some reason, Tom was amused at the recollection of Hermione's words.

The subsequent day would be dangerous and she had very little idea about the people she was involved with.

He couldn't trust any of his _friends_ to watch over her and keep her safe.

No, _he_ would have to do the task from now on. He had many plans for her and she had so much potential—he couldn't let it go waste, not when he had spent so much time on it all.

"What about Lestrange?" Malfoy's voice disrupted his thoughts.

"What about him?"

"He'll tell Leanne about the kiss; he's her cousin after all," Malfoy said quietly. "I tried to draw attention away from it, as a last resort, but it wasn't particularly effective."

Tom's jaw hardened.

 _The kiss._

He could still feel the ghost of her lips languishing on his, the soft aroma and stench of her breath intertwined with his own and he would have touched his lips for recollection if Malfoy wasn't here.

"You seemed to enjoy it," Abraxas commented again. "This is the first time I've seen you... a bit lost, to be honest. Is something going on?"

Tom tilted his head, fixing Malfoy with a disapproving glare. "And what makes you think that you have the right to speculate and question me?"

The boy pouted, crossing his arms. "I was just looking out for you. I don't trust Lestrange and Leanne's too precious to lose. You wouldn't want to jeopardise everything that we have built so far, not because of a girl."

He had gone too far this time.

"You presume too much, dear _friend_." Tom narrowed his eyes. "Hermione was drunk and she kissed me accidentally. There is nothing more to it. Besides, Lestrange will keep his mouth shut because a certain _someone_ will persuade him that it is in his best interests to do so, won't he?"

Comprehension dawned on Abraxas's albino features and his lips twisted into a knowing smirk.

"It would be an honour. I should get going if I have to carry out the deed before daylight tomorrow then. It's a good thing that I share the room with him."

Tom watched thoughtfully as the blonde boy exited the balcony, strutting as if he owned the place.

He had no friends, of course. But Malfoy's assumed proximity and familiarity made him wary; the boy was definitely planning something.

What, he couldn't quite surmise yet.

No, he had no friends.

Every single one of his crew was an enemy, with the exception of Hermione, of course. She was guileless to the point of being an idiot.

 _The kiss..._

He glanced at the forest one last time before retiring.

The innkeeper had told him that most of the forest was benign, welcoming even, except for the presence of wolves.

He wasn't particularly worried about most of his crew; he wouldn't mourn their deaths one bit. They were all unremarkable and dispensable, even though he had worked hard on them.

But he would have to take care that _she_ didn't become wolf-snack.

She—her magic and skill were irreplaceable.

The wonders that he could do with the Arithmancy skills she possessed— _no, he would make sure that she didn't die a horrible death tomorrow._

And as for Gregorovitch, he knew _exactly_ where the old bastard was.

* * *

Hey guys, so let me know if u like this chapter and I'll post more very soon.

Your reviews always encourage me to write more and better.

Love you all.

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	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

* * *

"Wake up you silly girl," Tom muttered under his breath, shaking Hermione's arm rather forcefully.

He was having an awful day—he had woken up with a thrumming headache, and the clamorous noises of his comrades quarrelling had exacerbated the problem; he had somehow managed to misplace his wand, which he had later on found tucked under his bed after twenty minutes of panicked ransacking of his room AND he had been late for breakfast.

He had always enjoyed breakfast and never missed it, not once.

But resolving the stupid quarrel between Lestrange and Malfoy had taken an hour and by the time he had managed to climb down to the dining area, they had run out of omelettes. He had had to make do with buttered toast and watered down orange juice.

Afterwards, he had hoped to make an early start with the rest of his team but that was not to be.

Avery had apparently overeaten the previous night and was suffering from severe food poisoning. Malfoy had managed to make a fool out of himself trying to cast a memory charm on Lestrange, who had caught him in the act and had retaliated with a dark curse of his own making.

And Hermione, the bloody queen of all nuisances, was still sleeping.

She groaned and pushed away his hand, thrusting a pillow over her head.

"Great." He rolled his eyes, utterly frustrated. He was a very patient boy in most cases but with the way the events were turning out for him, he might just lose his temper and woe be to those who stumbled his way then.

"Okay, time for harsher measures."

He whipped out his wand from his back pocket and clicked his tongue at her sleeping form. Her stupid dress was all crumpled and he could see her exposed buttocks hanging out quite obscenely, mid-air.

" _Temuro_ ," he murmured softly.

A large trumpet materialised out of nowhere and stationed itself quite close to her head.

When he flicked his finger next, it blared.

 _Ah, the loud blare of a war trumpet._

 _He had quite forgotten how powerful it could be_ , he thought.

Within seconds, Hermione jerked awake, sitting up in her bed and yelling at him loudly to make the irksome nose stop. Her eyes bulged in shock and annoyance and he could see spit flying out of her tongue, uttering profanities at the innocent object.

He leaned against the wall and simply stared in amusement.

"Make it stop, Tom!" she yelled again, throwing her pillow at him but he ducked. Meanwhile, the door of her room crashed open and in fell his comrades, one upon another in a promiscuous heap of incoherence and stupidity, enquiring of him and her as to what was going on, and he had to look away.

"I really ought to get new peers," he muttered to himself, shaking his head, and waved his hand.

The trumpet disappeared into thin air and silence fell upon all those present.

"I will only say this once, all of you, so listen carefully," he said softly, taking turns to look at each one of them meaningfully. Hermione still had her head buried in her hands. "I want you all gathered at the gate in the next fifteen minutes—anyone who delays will be left behind. I have had enough of bickering and tarrying and to be quite frank, it doesn't amuse me anymore."

He thought he had made his point when he casually flicked his wand at Malfoy, who cringed in fear and stumbled backwards, falling when he hit the desk behind him. Tom simply stared with an inscrutable expression on his face but he knew that they all understood the seriousness in his command.

"Fifteen minutes, everyone." He stepped over Malfoy, pocketing his wand, and glanced backwards. "Make sure that she's with you when you come down, Avery—I will hold you personally responsible."

Avery gave him a curt nod and Tom took off, intent on catching some fresh air.

* * *

"Something smells foul, what could it be?" Hermione covered her mouth and nose, wrinkling her brows. Tom was being awfully quiet, his eyes flitting about in all directions whilst they trudged the rough terrain. The forest was thick and very little light penetrated the tree cover. "I don't like forests."

It was also cold.

Everyone else had kind of wandered off; they knew the general direction in which they were supposed to be heading and Tom had chosen to walk with her.

"Keep close," Tom warned, one of the only few phrases he had cared to utter every since they had started. "I don't—believe this forest is as innocent as it seems."

"In no universe does this forest seem innocent, Tom; we must have your head checked for that presumption."

"The innkeeper said—" Tom started but broke off midway, reaching out for a twig on the ground and sniffing it. He was—absurdly weird at times...

She was still licking off the embarrassing memories from the night before; true, they were hazy in details but she still remembered the general outline and it did nothing to improve her self esteem.

The ground was damp, covered in a thin cover of green—lichens, mosses and the like and Hermione had this strangest feeling that the forest was alive.

"We've been walking for hours, can't we just rest?" she panted, using a tree bark to lean against and support her weight.

"No." Tom bent down and touched the ground, running his fingers over its muddy cover. "We can't stop right now—"

Hermione sighed and trudged on, tired to the point of exhaustion.

Half an hour later, she found her strength giving way.

"I can't walk anymore and unless you're willing to carry me further or back to the inn, I think I shall lie down under this tree and doze off." With that, she dropped to the cosiest looking patch of grass and stuck out her legs, massaging them with her hands.

"We have to move, Hermione," Tom said in a level voice, not bothering to glance at her. "This forest isn't safe, and I would rather not stay here for the night if I can help it."

"Well—how far is the border anyway?"

"I don't know for sure; this forest seems to be more expansive than I expected."

"Could it be," she began carefully, massaging her swollen ankles, "—that we have lost our way?"

Tom sat on haunches, drawing obscure patterns on the ground with his wand.

"No. I don't believe we are lost. The others, however—seem to have ventured in the wrong directions altogether and it would probably be best if we regrouped with them and then moved forward."

He sighed and threw a stone into the nearest pond, creating ripples.

"How do you propose to do that? I can't walk anymore and we might be lost trying to find them again and it would all be no good anyway by then—the night isn't far away."

She looked skywards and hugged herself, feeling wary all of a sudden.

The forest felt foreboding.

"Finding them isn't a problem—it is the least of my concerns really. It's the nightfall that worries me." He scowled and rose to sit by her, leaning against the tree bark, and opened the topmost buttons of his shirt. Next, he rolled up his sleeves and revealed a tattoo to her.

It was grotesque—serpentine lines ran up and down through the animated skull engraved in his skin and she almost shuddered. It looked so very real and alive, as if it breathed through his skin, corrupting, tainting, and murmuring—

"What's this?" she asked, not daring to touch the hideous mark on his unblemished skin. "Pardon me, but it almost looks like—it's disgusting, Tom, and I don't know why but I feel sick."

He gave her a patronising smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes, and touched the tattoo with an elegant finger. The craven snake hissed, Hermione swore she could hear the sound, and curled inwards and it looked like the skull had swallowed the snake.

"It's a mark of— _affinity_ that my group has for each of its members, they all have one you know—this way, we always know how to find someone when they're lost, like right now." His eyes glittered in a strange emotion that she had never had the chance to witness and she felt an instinctive need to cringe away from him. At the same time, however, Tom looked up and gave her a reassuring smile. "Wherever they are, this mark will guide them to me once it is activated—it'll be less trouble for us, don't you think?"

She shrugged. "I guess, when you put it that way, it seems quite helpful. I bet there's more to it though. What else does it do?"

He didn't respond, choosing to focus on some point over her shoulder.

"What is it?" She shivered, glancing at him curiously.

He gave her a cursory look, sort of unseeing and momentarily afraid, and she swallowed.

"I should—light a fire; it's getting cold."

He waved a practiced hand at the short tufts of grass that lay embedded in the ground, green and yellowing strands, and a light blue flame erupted from his wand, landing in the centre of the heap.

Hermione felt a comforting warmth wash over her, as the fire spread and basked her skin in tender light.

"When will they come?"

"Soon," he answered shortly, warming his hands-she thought he must be hiding something from her, he must have for gone was the countenance of cool indifference and though she couldn't claim to be an expert in reading him, she could feel waves of uncertainty rolling off him.

They sat huddled over the fire for ten minutes, during which Hermione made no noise and Tom kept glancing at his watch.

He even ventured to draw a circle that embraces most the clearing, effectively trapping them in the middle. She didn't ask him what it was but it must have been some sort of protective enchantment for she heard him chanting under his breath

"If they don't return in another five minutes, we'll leave here," he said after some time, staring at her concerned face.

"We can't do that," she protested, looking at his pale, haunted face in the dismembered moonlight."We can't leave people behind-what are you afraid of?"

He shook his head, putting up a finger on his lips.

HIs eyes suddenly grew alert and he snapped his head to his right. She mimicked his line of sight and found her own ears registering a dim thudding noise-someone was running towards them.

Tom immediately jumped up and whipped out his wand, running towards the thick bushes. A few seconds later, Lestrange, Avery and Mulciber fell through, breathless and panting—there were scratches all over their arms and legs, their faces were white with fear and their bulging eyes were red—Hermione stepped forward to help them but Tom grabbed her wrist and pushed her back.

"Don't leave the circle," he growled, his voice barely above whisper. "Hurry up you fools, inside the circle. _NOW_!"

His last word was a yell—it was shrill and inhuman and was immediately followed by a louder, animalistic wail that made chills run down her spine—it wasn't Tom; this had to be some animal and judging by its pitch and noise, it was close by.

"Where's Malfoy?" Hermione asked as the boys stumbled, running into the circle and collapsed near the fire. It was good that the circle was big for their limbs were spread haywire all over the damp ground and she looked at Tom for answers. "What's happening?"

"There are wolves in the forest," Lestrange croaked, sitting on all fours, his hands trembling as he pushed against the ground for support. "—Malfoy—he fell, we couldn't stop—"

"I think they caught our scent," Avery whispered, shuddering against a large boulder. "I think they'll follow-"

Hermione looked at each of their faces—terrified and worn as they were, there was something akin to determination in them as wee—Tom stared hard at the ground, unseeing.

A sudden movement in the bushes once more—a hushing silence fell on all of them—she took a step backwards, Avery gripped his wand tightly and Tom stood motionless, his chin held up and his wand drawn—Lestrange ran a shaking hand all over his face and Hermione felt her palms sweat.

Malfoy, bleeding and torn, staggered through—his wand held askew and his nearly perfect hair all messed up, his pale features frozen in fatigue and fear—Tom took two quick strides towards him and dragged him into the circle.

"They're coming," he breathed, collapsing on the ground. "There's too many of them—we can't possibly stop them all— and it isn't just wolves, there are other things in the forest—it's a trap."

Tom's jaw tightened and his eyes took on a frosty look.

He stood up resolutely, staring into the crackling fathoms of the dying fire and closed his eyes.

Another lamenting howl sounded in the distance.

"Take positions."

 _What?_

 _What positions?_

Hermione stood there, baffled, in the midst of it all as the boys spread to the periphery of the circle.

"We'll form the circle of flame, on my signal. It's the best we can do for now—"Remember, whatever happens, do not spill blood. Defend and run, but do no spill blood—" Tom broke off midway, eyes intently fixed at some point in the darkness.

And there they were.

All Hermione could see were eyes—big, glowing, red eyes that seemed to stretch out on all sides and they were faint, sort of blending into darkness now and then and she heard the collective, single minded scraping of paws on the ground—her back hit the tree bark and she felt her legs shake involuntarily,

" _Now_!"

Three concentric circles of red fire erupted, surrounding them all with fiendish flames that leapt up high into the sky, lashing, eviscerating—at the exact same moment, a huge wolf jumped from the periphery, howling mid-air, and roared when it couldn't pass through the barrier—it bared its teeth and howled again, a terrifying, mournful sound and Hermione felt her legs giving way.

There they stood, all five of them spread out in the circle, their wands throbbing with the amount of magical energy they were expending, and the world about them roared and screamed while they tried their best to not lose footing and keep it up.

And Hermione just stood there, feeling fucking useless.

She didn't even know what a circle of fire was.

Ten minutes later, however, she could see weariness beginning to spread among the boys and it looked like they'd probably collapse under the sheer weight of their bones—the amount of magic flowing through them was enormous and the enemy did not seem to have relented.

"I can't keep this up, Tom!" Malfoy struggled to keep the energy flowing from his wand—Hermione could tell that he was spent, a look of sheer despondence and weariness spread over his pale features. "I'm going to pull out."

"Not yet."

"I will faint if I keep it up."

Tom's face looked worried now. The wolves were howling all around them, snapping their jaws, growling, beckoning—Hermione refused to look at them, keeping her eyes trained on each of the boys one by one and keeping her wand at ready—her fingers were growing numb from cold and she refused to feel fear, not that debilitating, visceral fear that she had felt momentarily at first sight and the one she might feel again if she caught a glimpse of their hideous faces again.

"Hermione, come here. " Tom motioned to her. "Take this—read it and memorise it, visualise it and remove your cubes—you must get this right, for we won't have another chance."

He had pushed into her hand a small piece of parchment and scribbled on it were a few words, a sort of incantation—she read them quickly, memorising them, and crumpled the piece in her hand.

"What does this do?"

He paused, and snapped the fingers of his other hand—a blue-green halo of light shot from his fingers, lighting up the ground ahead and it seemed to stretch across the clearing, going beyond her line of sight.

"That's the path we need to use to get out of this fucking forest," he said, narrowing his eyes at the fire circles. Exertion was beginning to show on him as well. "This spell will slow down time for all those existing outside this circle, in a limited area. Be quick though, Malfoy isn't going to last long now. Any moment—don't fail Hermione, we're counting on you."

She swallowed and looked at the rest of the crowd—they were too busy holding the spell, making it work in continuation, to actually pay her any kind of attention at all. The fires seemed to be fading and the wind grew heavier—a strange fear filled her heart.

"Okay," she breathed deeply. "I can do this."

" _In Dorime Tora, Nafusul anikhte,_

 _In dorie tora, Mofusil, torre!"_

She caught the cubes between her fingers—they thrummed gently with the raw power held inside them and she hoped that it had worked—God only knew what they would do if it hadn't.

With a smooth sweep upwards, she flung them into air. They made an arc like movement, hovering mid-air for the smallest fraction of a second before each of them dove down to the ground, hitting it squarely in places.

They congealed the next moment, like a fusing mass of molten metal, and suddenly a brilliant flash of blinding light lit up the small clearing—Hermione used her elbows and hands to shade her eyes, falling to the ground on her knees.

She felt the spell leave her body—she hadn't expected that, she didn't know in full the theory and its use and the power was still humming in her body, sickening her...

A moment later, when all seemed quiet, she peeped out from behind her fingers. It was a bizarre sight that met her eyes. Electric blue threads of light seemed to connect her with each of the boys, and the darkness outside the circle was absolute for the ring of fire had broken.

Tom stared at the thread of light that seemed to pass through his abdomen, connecting him to her. His eyes grew wider in wonder and he looked at her with parted lips.

"You did it."

"What the fuck is this?"

Malfoy had almost fainted—he scampered to Tom's side on all fours, coughing.

Lestrange ran his unoccupied hand through the blue light, his mouth open in shock. Mulciber was helping Avery stand up, looking at Tom with questioning eyes.

Her eyes snapped to the woods outside the circle—the dark figures of wolves beyond the periphery of light seemed to have frozen and she didn't have the courage to look closely, she was still afraid and the electric light coursing through her veins was visible, it stung within her skin, prickling, slashing, and burning—

"What in the world is happening? Tom?" Avery asked.

Tom stared at Hermione, his eyes eerily devoid of emotion. "Lestrange, follow the trail of blue-green with others—tend to Malfoy, drag him with you if you want—we don't have more than ten minutes for this spell will weaken her and if she runs out of energy, it will die; you better run for your lives or this forest will devour you."

Without a look backwards, he grabbed Hermione's wrist, pulling her up to a standing position—she staggered at the force in his tug and followed him as he ran, keeping her eyes down to the ground—they ran blindly, almost as if the hell hounds were alive and at their heels.

She must have brushed against the frozen fur of something—she cringed and gasped, running, running, running, running...

The magic in her skin was burning her alive, she couldn't hold on for longer, she wouldn't –but the tug of his hand and the support of his arm egged her on—she stumbled and staggered, all this while very much conscious of the fact that her layers of her mind were unravelling, like a half-remembered dream.

"I have to—I can't, it's going to—it's going to kill me—" she gasped, reeling under the weight of her own magic. "Tom!"

His grip on her arm tightened, he pulled her forcefully, quickening his run and dragging her with him.

"Just a little further, Hermione, just a little more—it's not far now—hold on and we'll be okay—don't—"

Just a little further.

Run.

Just a little further.

Run.

The ground was damp. The trees were dark. And the wind was blowing harshly, deeply, biting, biting, gnawing—

The thick cover of trees grew sparse and she could see the end of that fell forest in sight. It only took them about five minutes before they crossed what seemed like a visible boundary and Tom let go of her hand, falling to the ground, and she lurched forward, catching herself just in time.

The magic that held him chained to her broke as well, and she realised that the searing pain in her veins had ceased.

"What the fuck just happened back in there? Wasn't it supposed to be safe?" She looked at the forest. "We should—we shouldn't stop—they'll come, won't they give chase?"

Tom coughed, using his palms to support his weight against the ground.

He spat.

"No, those beasts are bound to the forest—we're outside their domain now and they won't be able to cross the boundary." Hermione thought she could hear others running towards them—they would make it, alright." It would have been an entirely different case if we had killed one of them."

"What do you mean?" She sat on a small rock, examining her arms for bruises and wounds. "And what was that strange piece of magic you just had me perform?"

"This forest—it is a trap. I am not sure if it was meant for us but it was a most ingenious piece of trap for unsuspecting travellers. If we had killed any of the beasts, or any other shadowy creatures that live down there, they would have been freed from the magical boundary that keeps them in the forest." He frowned, checking his wand. She could see Avery and Lestrange running towards them in hurry; Mulciber was slower since he carried Malfoy's prone form hovering through the last trees that marked the forest's territory. "As far as the magic you performed is concerned, I crafted that incantation—it never worked for me with a wand but with Arithmancy Cubes, I deemed it possible and took a chance. It was a very advanced piece of magic and this happens to be a very delicate problem with such pieces, they require vast amounts of energy for application and your body just wasn't ready for it, I believe."

The moonlight made it all look so dark and ethereal.

She shivered.

"I felt like I would die—it tried to kill me, the very magic of my own body tried to strangle me."

"It's like a beast that needs to be controlled—you'll learn how, you'll get better." His silver eyes shone in a delightful colour—a sort of blue that made his thin smile appear ominous and charming at the same time. "You did really well out there, I'm proud of you."

Hermione bit her lip, looked around and caught sight of smoke rising up behind a thin patch of trees. She wasn't sure if she wanted to control or tame that sort of magic.

It had taken all her strength, all her sanity and if she had held on for long, she knew that it would have driven her to madness, if not death.

"There's a village up there, I think."

"And here come the rest of our party," Tom commented. "We'll rest another night there... We all need to recuperate."

* * *

Hey guys, I am not sure I did a great job with this... so confused. Do you like it?

Please leave a review so that I can think better and write more.

Cheers.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

* * *

 _A lightning bolt. A pair of round glasses. Emerald eyes._

Brief flashes of half-remembered images erupted in her mind, all of a sudden, and she halted in her tracks.

"Hermione?" Tom asked, almost bumping into her. "Is everything alright?"

She frowned and touched her head in confusion, looking at each of the four boys gathered by her side.

"Yes, everything's fine."

 _A small lightning bolt-shaped scar, a pair of round glasses—what else, what else?_

She shook her head and focused on the path ahead.

They had waited for only a short while after everyone had caught up. Along the edge of that fell forest they had sat and tended to their wounds, and it was funny that no one had spoken a word. Afterwards, Tom had decided to take the narrow pathway that Hermione presumed must lead to some sort of human settlements only a small distance away.

The tree cover was scant but it still hid most of the horizon from view. It was a mild surprise when, after a walk of ten minutes, the bedraggled party found the path curve sharply and lead to a small village.

"We should make a stop here." Tom scratched his ear. "Perhaps an inn—"

"No."

He raised an eyebrow at her, his mouth flattening in to a thin line of disapproval.

"It's too close to the forest." She looked back, almost shivering. "Not here, Tom—it just doesn't feel right."

Since it was still very late in the night, they found the village alleys almost deserted. But despite that, Tom trod the ground at an even pace, his eyes moving quickly in the darkness. He seemed to know where to go, at the very least, for not once did he stop to inquire.

"What do you propose we do then?"

He stopped suddenly and fixed her with a pointed stare.

"Move on?" she suggested, fully aware of how ridiculous her proposal sounded. But even so, she voiced it because staying in the village simply didn't sit well with her. It just didn't—it was an irrational, impulsive protest but she made it anyway. "There's bound to be another place or town nearby—"

Grunts and murmurs of protest emerged from the rest of the group: Malfoy groaned and sat down on the ground, his head held tightly in his hands; Lestrange glared at her and crossed his arms, saying nothing; Avery didn't even stop for the argument but walked away from the group towards what seemed like the village centre and Mulciber's simply stared moodily at Tom.

"The next town's five miles off. The wolves can't cross the boundary or this village wouldn't have existed—what is wrong with you?"

Before she could answer him, Malfoy's low growl drew her attention towards him.

"If the _princess_ doesn't want to come, let her stay here all by herself—I am going to follow Avery and we're going to find lodging and food and rest."

With those words, he stood up with great effort and staggered off in Avery's direction.

Hermione was left speechless.

Tom shrugged and reached for her shoulder, squeezing it gently. "Come on, there's nothing wrong with staying here for the day. Besides, I have business here. This is what our little trip has been about—I cannot abandon it now."

Hermione bit her lip, tarrying for a little longer, as if still protesting but she let Tom lead her by his hand and the four of them followed Malfoy and Avery.

All around them the houses were made mostly of stone. A few lights in curtained windows twinkled here and there. Sighting the nearest inn, Tom led them towards it. He kept pace with Hermione while Lestrange and Mulciber trailed behind them. Malfoy and Avery had already stepped inside.

The inn had a bleak exterior. Its windows were boarded and there was no sign or name. Two flights of stairs lay on opposite sides and Hermione assumed that they led to the rooms upstairs.

She sighed.

"I don't want to go into the bar—I simply have no energy. I'll wait here for you to return?"

Tom looked at her in concern but said nothing.

"Very well," he uttered after a long while and entered the inn with Mulciber and Lestrange, leaving Hermione to wait at the door.

 _What were those brief images,_ she wondered whilst she waited. _Shit_. _Why can't I fucking remember anything?_

 _And that forest_ —she shivered involuntarily, haunted by the memory of wolves crowding around them in the clearing, their yellow eye glittering in avarice—the spell had certainly drained her physically and mentally. She doubted if she could perform a simple Alohomora right then.

Ten more minutes passed and she looked around. There were houses on all sides, broken by vegetation and fences—not a soul could be discerned outdoors.

She wondered if the boys would start drinking before they turned in. Surely not. And in any case, she was sure that Tom wouldn't leave her standing out all by herself for long. Why she believed that, she had no idea.

Such immediate concerns flitted to and fro repeatedly, her mind seemingly too worn out to think about anything else just then. Tom came out a short while later, clutching a key in his hand.

"They only had three rooms—they have enough beds but we'll have to share the room." He handed her the key and looked at her uncertainly, as if waiting for her to refuse.

 _Why would she refuse?_

"What?" she asked him.

"You don't mind, do you?"

"Sharing a room with you? No, why would I mind?"

He tilted his head, beckoning her to the staircase on the right. It was rickety and the wooden floor creaked under her shoes.

"No reason." He frowned and looked at the key again to confirm the room number. He opened the door and made an inviting hand gesture. "The room is all yours, my lady, for now. I should go down and keep a watch on those buffoons. I'll keep the key with me."

The twin beds were small but neat. The windows were boarded up and there was a small lamp hanging by the ceiling. Hermione sat on one of the beds and felt the mattress. It was soft to touch. She took off her shoes and hit the pillow, closing her eyes as her aching body finally felt some peace.

She vaguely registered Tom's whispered ' _Good Night'_ and mumbled something incoherent before giving in to Morpheus.

* * *

 _So much to accomplish and so little time_ , Tom thought.

He had the address in his hand—one Gertrude Smith who lived on her farm on the outskirts of the tiny village. Apparently Gregorovitch rented a room at a house run by an Englishwoman and she maintained her farm along with the house. Gregorovitch was reportedly a recluse and never seemed to get out and had no friends in the village. The bartender cum innkeeper had given him the directions and Tom set off to meet him at the crack of dawn, leaving his little group snoring and tossing in their beds.

 _Could he still have it though?_

Tom's grey eyes moved quickly, taking in every aspect of the little village and its habitants. There weren't many people about but he was sure he'd find the farm household awake. Hermione had been right though—the village was a little queer. Most of the windows were boarded up, and a few people he had seen seemed rather in a hurry to get somewhere. Their general mannerisms showed that they were constantly watching over their shoulders, as if afraid. Even his brief conversation with the innkeeper had given him the impression of a man ill at ease in company. Wariness was written in each line of his face and he had quickly given Tom the keys, not inviting him to stay for drinks or anything. The rest of them had had a quick dinner, all alone in the common hall, and had retired to their rooms upstairs.

 _Best make a quick visit and be off,_ Tom considered.

The house was small, quite like most village houses. The farms probably lay to the backside. There wasn't much activity going on but he did catch sight of a plump woman returning from the hencoop.

"Excuse me?" he called out, taking care to wear his politest visage and putting on an apologetic air about his person. "Is Mr Gregorovitch inside?"

The woman surveyed him for a moment, pink cheeks puffing in and out as she breathed.

"You're not from around here."

"No, Ma'am. I have travelled a long way to see him though, and I would like very much to meet him."

"London?"

He nodded.

"I lived there once, a long time ago—it was a good life, not that I am complaining my lot now." She shook her head and gave him a quick smile. "Go right in, his room is upstairs—the first door. He'll be awake by now."

Tom thanked her and took off—the woman had been quite polite and less jittery as compared to the rest of the village. Perhaps—

Never mind.

He turned the knob and the door creaked open, closing behind him with a snap. A flight of stairs lay to the right and Tom climbed up in hurry, ready to get his task finished in time for breakfast at the inn.

 _It shouldn't be too hard_ , he thought.

A few memory charms and the man would never know what happened. It was just as well that he hadn't had to force entry.

He fingered his wand softly, staring at the first door on the landing.

He knocked briefly, waiting for response from the other side.

"Come in," a deep, guttural voice answered.

Tom entered quietly, taking in every aspect of the room in one brief glance. A single bed, two chairs and one table was all Gregorovitch had in his room. The man himself looked—tired. He had a beard that covered most of his chin, his tiny eyes set deep in their frames and a long nose that stood at variance with the rest of his features. He was still in his nightclothes, bent over a piece of parchment.

"Who are you?" he looked up and asked, suspicion lacing every syllable.

Tom stepped in and gave him reassuring smile, closing the door behind him.

"I am Tom."

The man's eyes narrowed.

"You say that as if the name should be of some consequence to me. Hurry up, boy, state your business or get out."

Tom caressed his wand once more, silently warding the door against all intrusion—no sound would reach out and no one would come in. He also noted that the man had no wand with him at hand.

 _Good_.

"Pardon me, Mr Gregorovitch—I've come from afar and wasting your precious time is _furthest_ from my intentions." Tom took a deep breath and sat down on the edge of Gregorovitch's bed, uninvited. "I'll make it quick then. You have something that I desire—the Elder Wand."

The man looked at him curiously, fidgeting in his chair. A few seconds later, he threw back his head and laughed.

"I don't have it, silly boy." He gave Tom a penetrating stare. "You should go back to where you came from and save that pretty face of yours from scars: these are dangerous times, especially here."

 _No._

 _That couldn't be._

Even so, Tom noted that the man's English was perfect, if slightly strong in accent.

He had to have it. It made perfect sense.

"When you say you don't have it," Tom began in perfectly measures tones, not particularly intent on violence if it could be avoided right then, "do you mean you've never had it? Were the reports of you owning the Elder Wand a marketing technique for your substandard wands that no one would buy any way?"

At his words, the old man's brows flared and he clutched the arms of his chair.

" _No_! My wands could compete with any of Ollivander's and more." He was fuming, almost. Tom watched as he spluttered and started cursing Ollivander, switching between German and English furiously. "You—how dare you come to my place and breathe such lies, you—you—"

"Easy there, Gregorovitch. I am not here to insult you." Tom raised a hand to silence the man.

It worked, for some reason, and Gregorovitch deflated.

"No. You're here, much like many other young ambitious young men and women who have come before you, to ask for the wand as if I would simply give it to them on demand. Others tried to take it by force but that didn't work either: I am not just a wand maker, after all." Gregorovitch gave him an eerie smile and Tom's hand tightened on his wand. "Even so, I have no desire to fight a duel with a child. And in any case, I don't have the wand. It was stolen from me."

Tom's ears perked up in interest.

"Stolen?"

Gregorovitch nodded.

"Yes. I don't know who stole it though or I would have hunted him down; all I remember is his face upon a dark night when he jumped down my window and fled with the most treasured possession I ever had."

His black eyes seemed full of intensity and rage at the memory perhaps.

There was no lie behind them.

Tom was no Legilimens yet but he had always been able to tell when a man lied to him.

Always.

So Gregorvitch did not have the wand. This journey had been in vain.

Unless…

"If you don't mind, Mr Gregorovitch, could I have the memory of this—boy?" Tom asked softly, knowing that this interview was at an end. His thin fingers were ready and playing softly on his wand as if it was a flute.

The old man snorted, crossing his arms.

"No." He seemed to relish the refusal and pointed at the door. "Now leave or you will taste the bitter end of my wand."

Tom chuckled slightly, getting up.

"Will I really, Mr. Gregorovitch?" he inquired lightly, eyes registering the quick movement that old man made to reach his drawer but Tom was faster. With a fluid motion, he drew out his wand before the other man wrapped his fingers around the knob, he released a spell.

" _Imperio_ ," Tom said, fishing out a vial buried in his robes. "Your memory of the day Elder Wand was stolen from you…"

The old man jerked a bit, as if trying to fight the curse but he couldn't and finally relented, forced to part with his memory. Tom corked the vial and pocketed it, turning it over in his hands.

"Thank you, sir. It's been a pleasure, doing business with you. A kinder gentleman I could not have met in these foreign parts."

* * *

Her eyes shot open, her senses dulled by a particularly disturbing dream—a dream she had trouble remembering after the first few seconds. Her heartbeat was elevated and she wiped the sweat off her brow, turning to look at the other bed across the room.

It was unoccupied.

Daylight could be seen rushing through the single, boarded-up window.

 _Had he not slept at all?_

No, he had. The bed was unmade, sheets spread about.

She suddenly realised what it was that had woken her. She had this unconquerable urge to pee. There was a common lavatory at the end of the corridor, she knew.

She shivered a little as she stepped outside her room, the cold morning drift catching her face in full.

The bathroom stank—she held her nose pinched, blocking every foul odour and turned to her problem at present.

There was no toilet paper and the sink was broken. Shaking her head, she decided to leave.

She had only just clasped the doorknob with her fingers when she heard it. A loud noise came from outside. She, like most human beings, would have turned the knob and gone to enquire but something told her to stay put. It was like she could sense the danger. She swallowed as another loud crash sounded from the far end of the corridor.

It was a good thing she had her wand on her.

She took it out gingerly, holding her breath steady. She sat on haunches and peeped through the keyhole.

 _Shit_.

There were five German men crowding the landing. From her vantage point, she could see that they held four boys at wandpoint—Malfoy, Lestrange, Avery and Mulciber. The boys had been made to kneel down on the ground and none of them had wands. There was a burly man in front of them, shouting something in German.

"Shit. Shit. Shit," she cursed repeatedly under her breath, unable to process what was going on.

As she watched, the burly man with jet black hair kicked Avery in the stomach, holding him by hair. He jabbed his wand into the boy's neck, muttering.

Hermione swallowed and watched as if she were hypnotised, unable to move her limbs at all. She should have gone to their aid, she knew that she should have but she couldn't move at all.

And Tom wasn't there. They had only four boys, not him.

She watched another minute whilst the Germans kicked Lestrange, cursing and spitting—they seemed to be asking something, something she couldn't understand at all—another man said something to the leader of the group and he nodded.

 _Who were they and why were they doing this?_

Her lips parted in horror when a leaner man, the one who held Lestrange, let go of him and started walking towards the lavatory, his blue eyes clearly fixed on it.

He was going to catch her.

If she stayed put, she was bound to be discovered anyway. But if she made a move, there might be a chance, however bleak, that she could do this. She stood up, determination shining in her brown eyes. Clutching her wand tightly, she threw open the door and fired a quick stunner.

Her spell hit its mark and the man was blown off his feet, landing several feet away from her. This was the good thing.

The only good thing for as soon as the spell left her wand; she immediately felt magic drain out of her body. It was like a small pool of liquid quickly evaporating the surface of her palm.

Her knees weakened.

She fired another weak stunner at the apparent leader of the group but missed disastrously. The spell crashed against the wooden pillar to his left. As soon as the men realised what was happening, they fired direct spells at her and she had no cover.

She had been too slow and too weak; her exertions the previous night had robbed her of a large part of her reserves and she hadn't recovered in full.

If she had hoped the boys would use this moment of distraction to their advantage and try to fight off their assaulters, she was greatly disappointed. Two of the spells missed her as she ducked but the third one caught her straight in the stomach, making her legs go limp and she collapsed on the floor with a loud thud.

* * *

They had left. They had taken the boys and left. All of them except one.

Spell after spell had come her way whilst she lay fallen, hitting her everywhere until her world was one with pain.

Only one man had stayed behind, for some inexplicable reason or perhaps he had just wanted to torment her. He grabbed her hair, digging into the roots with his fingernails and she let out an involuntary gasp, trying to claw at his face. He reached for underside of her top and tried to tear it off her. She struggled, trying her hardest to bite his hand, but he punched her, catching her nose fully and she felt it break.

He seemed to be saying something—it could have been anything really for she did not understand German in the least. Her conscious grew hazy and she was afraid.

His fingers still seemed to be working under her top and she really didn't know what was happening anymore.

"You—" she tried to say but nothing came out. She made one last grab at the man's face and missed. He grabbed her by the elbows and slammed her head onto the floor. Dizzy and bleeding, she found her breath cut off as the man's fingers moved to choke her.

All struggle was in vain. She couldn't move to save her life.

Fleeting images of a redheaded boy struck her mind this time.

A pair of emerald green eyes.

 _Gods, was this dying?_

"Let her go."

Her dying brain registered a voice in their midst.

A command.

The man let go of her throat, throwing her against the wall as he stood up to face the intruder.

It was Tom.

Briefly, even if for just a moment, her mind leaped in joy.

She was saved.

She could hear the loud tap of his shoes on the floor.

Tom silently disarmed the man, an action which came to him as casually as an act of turning the page while reading a book. The man took a step backwards, perhaps feeling less menacing without a group of bullies to guard his back.

She crouched low, coughing.

Tom bent down and lifted her bruised chin, her broken nose telling him the tale of events.

His face was expressionless—Hermione hissed in pain when he put his hand around her shoulders and pulled her up. She swayed where she stood and Tom was taking all her weight, keeping her steady and standing.

"You went too far," he said softly, caressing his wand. His eyes were fixed on the ground and his mouth was nothing more than a thin outline. Hermione's head buzzed with a relentless hum—she wouldn't be conscious in the next minute, she knew. But she wanted to see. She wanted to see Tom punish this man.

She wanted to see him bleed. And if death came for him, her body would sing with joy.

"T-Tom," she croaked, digging her nails into his arms. "They—they took the others."

Tom's breath stilled for a fraction of a second, only just, and he tightened his hold over her.

He surveyed the man up and down; the coward had his hands up in the air and was saying something in a language he didn't understand.

Tom's grey eyes were steel, the pale mask of his face gone.

Hermione felt him murmur something to her, she didn't know what he said for at that exact moment her world turned blind and she slumped against Tom's taller form, giving way to gravity and lost all awareness.

* * *

Tell me if u liked this chapter, will be updating others as well.

R&R. Cheers.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

* * *

He was deeply perturbed.

And enraged.

"Tell me, my good man, what caused you to sell out my company—I hope you received a good price, for the personal cost to you will be rather _exorbitant_ ," he said, eyes glittering dangerously. The innkeeper licked his parched lips, his beetle eyes moving to and fro, looking for an escape route.

As far as Tom was concerned, there wouldn't be one.

Not for him.

Not for any of them.

They were standing in the innkeeper's room, a plain chamber with simpler furniture but neat linen, and the proprietor was effectively cornered. He was slow to cooperate, slower to comprehend the danger his life was in, and he hadn't answered a single question since Tom had walked in, disarming and trapping him against his will.

"You understand my language, yes? We got along rather well last night, didn't we? And even though I have enjoyed your hospitality _immensely_ , I'm afraid it's time for me to pay up and go, no?" He scanned the wooden ceiling, frowning slightly, and glanced at the unarmed man in front of him. "However, I find my crew to be greatly reduced—you see, and even though I have other sources, I'd like to hear it from you—why did you do it, for you certainly did it, and what was the per head prize?"

The man held up his chin, not speaking.

 _Even now_ , Tom mused, _he was considering escaping._

 _Yes, his life was forfeit._

He kept tapping his foot on the floor— _tap, tap, tap_ —and his hands played idly on the smooth, white surface of his wand.

He better finish this soon, there were plenty of things to do.

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom noticed a sudden movement and faster than a hawk swooping down on his prey, he snapped his fingers causing the man to levitate a few feet above ground.

A silent red gleam crossed his grey eyes—his patience had worn thin and there was work to be done.

"I won't ask again," he said quietly, pointing his wand at the man floating above him. "And you can choose silence but there are other tongues in this puny village that wag, in this very inn, no?"

 _A pause._

His eyes bulged in pain as Tom jerked his fingers and cut off air supply in his windpipe.

"Grindelwald," the man rasped, his legs flailing about in empty air and his fingers scratching the skin on his neck. "Grindelwald's men. Always come—have to alert him ven strangers come."

For a tiny second, Tom found himself—panicking.

Wild, unbridled panic that he hadn't felt in a long, long while. Not since—

But only for a second.

His lips twitched slightly, a very small movement, and a bright green light escaped the tip of his wand—the small room lit up in shades of green, multitudinous, reflecting, and almost ghostly—he averted his eyes towards the door and the man fell down with a thud, his body spread on the floor in strange humourless, angles.

* * *

The soft stench hit his nostrils as soon as the door creaked open and even though he had been quick in disposing of the bastard, with as little blood spilt as possible, a dead body always smelled.

He paused on the threshold, scowling.

Grindelwald.

Grindelwald.

But why?

He shook his head; there was no time to be lost in reflection.

At least not just then.

Crossing over, he scooped the small form of Hermione in his arms—she was still unconscious and even though he had tried to heal her to the best of his abilities, fixing her ruptured nose, the few cracks in her ribs and sealing off cuts in her skin to stem blood loss, there was no telling is she would be fine and there was no way he could seek a healer just then—he hoped she was strong enough to survive. He pocketed his wand, slinging a small bag over his shoulders and took one last look at the room before closing the door behind him.

The man who had attacked Hermione was dead, as was the proprietor of the inn. He clambered down the steps quickly, shifting the girl's weight in his arms, and sneaked his way to the back.

Grindelwald had sent the men. One of them had remained behind, the one who had attacked Hermione, and they would come to seek him as soon as he was missed.

Best leave no witness or evidence.

He shifted Hermione's weight once more and put her down, holding his wand between two fingers, pointed casually at the building in front of him.

The inn erupted in orange-red flames, reflected in his glassy grey eyes, and he found the corners of his mouth twisting in a smile—a small satisfaction from a Fiendfyre curse created well—it drew away his wrath and instability, his panic as well and he could think clearly once more.

He had to flee.

He picked up the girl once more, pocketed his wand, and walked away without a second look behind him—the uproar and madness of an uncontrollable fire rising heavenwards, swallowing wood and stone alike, the screams of the burnt and dying provided a good distraction and no one paid any attention to the young man leaving the small confines of a primitive village.

No one.

* * *

At first there was pain and then awakening.

The pain was intense and then awakening hazy—she was conscious of the textures, the hard ground under her bones, the chipping tree bark that her fingers grazed, and the dim light that guided her eyes even as multicoloured spots danced in front of them.

She shuddered awake, gasping for breath.

"Don't—get up," someone said, feeling her forehead.

"Where are we? What happened? The man—" a string of words flew her lips and she shuddered once more, closing her eyes. "We're not at the inn anymore."

"Yes. How do you feel?"

"Better perhaps. I'm still—my bones hurt and everything is a blur." She didn't open her eyes, using her fingers to seek his hand. "Where are we?"

"I fixed you as well as I could but I could not risk consulting a healer just then." He tapped at her forearm, his hand cold, and she felt him squeeze her fingers. "And we are in the woods, as far away from the village as I could get—I had to stop for a break."

She opened her eyes and clearer images rushed to her mind this time—the tree overhead was a striking green colour with broad leaves and a wide canopy with lasting shade—she turned her eyes and caught sight of Tom sitting close to her, leaning against the thick bark and staring into space.

And then she remembered.

 _The men—the boys—the assault_ —

She sat up and immediately regretted her decision for her back felt like it had knives sunk into it but she didn't lie down again.

"I thought I was dead for sure," she said, looking into his eyes. "The man—"

"Dead."

Uncomfortable, sinewy vines twisted in her stomach.

"Dead? How—you didn't do it, did you? You couldn't have—you wouldn't—and the boys, rest of the group—Malfoy and other-?"

He picked up a small stone and flung it as far as he could.

"There was a fire at the inn—everyone panicked; I took you and ran." His right chin puffed and she realised he must have rolled his tongue behind it. "And as far as the boys are concerned, I don't know where they are. I could barely save you and myself."

"Oh God." She put a hand over her mouth, horrified. "Who—why would anyone do that? And what do we do now?"

A knot twisted in her throat, gagging her voice.

He did not answer her for a long time, choosing to gaze at a bird instead, absently running his hands up and down on the ugly ring he wore.

And she chose not to ask him how he knew that her assaulter was dead.

She chose not to.

"This is a country plagued by civil war—I told you about it, did I not? I can't go back without them; Avery, Malfoy and others," he said quietly, desperation clinging to the faint notes in his voice. "I need to find them and I don't know how."

Her face scrunched up in pain as a short sting hit her left foot.

"No, it wouldn't be right to abandon friends when they are in trouble. But do you think—can't we alert the authorities to their disappearance and maybe they can look—" she said, stretching out her legs to gauge the damage and the subsequent amateur treatment she had received. "I'll help you, you know I would. But I don't think I'm much good right now and we don't even know who took them."

A small bug crawled over Tom's pants, making way up to his torso as he gazed vacantly ahead of him.

"Grindelwald."

"What?"

"They were Grindelwald's men. We can't tell the authorities because our presence here is illegal. We weren't supposed to be here, you know that, and no matter how strong the Aurors maybe, they will never catch _Him_. He runs a parallel government in this country—no, this can't be reported."

She acknowledged his words with a tiny nod, feeling dread settle down in the pit of her stomach.

"He hit me hard, the scoundrel." She spat on the ground, massaging her neck. She wanted to stand up but something told her that her legs wouldn't be quite as supportive. "Tried to choke me too—and I couldn't do a fucking thing; I've never felt this helpless before, not even when I met you the first time—this is the second time you've saved my life, Tom."

A small smile played around the corner of his lips, a genuine smile that lit up shadowy corners of her heart.

"You're in my debt then," he said, looking away quickly as soon as his eyes met hers. He stood up and brushed off the dirt clinging to his pants with his hands, squinting to his right. "We can't stay here; I'll scout ahead and then we move. You need to recover but I'm sure you'll be fine to walk in another hour, especially now that you're awake. But we'll leave this place, and quickly too."

She nodded and leaned against the bark, watching him go.

He returned an hour later, frowning and scowling at the same time.

"I have sighted something up ahead—a strange something but it didn't feel like a trap," he said as soon as he reached close enough to speak. His face was redder now, perhaps from exertion of walking or maybe it was the sunlight but it became him well. "We should go before the sun sets—can you walk?"

"I could try," she said, taking the hand he offered and put her other hand on the tree bark beside her. Her feet stung as soon as she put her weight on them but she ignored it. "I'll be slow but I think I can manage. What did you see though?"

"It's a village—deserted but well preserved." He slung the backpack around his right shoulder and used his left arm to support her. "I don't think it's a trap or anything but it's—well preserved. That's all I can say to describe it."

They walked quietly, their silence companionable, and Hermione suddenly remembered something.

"I don't have my wand."

"What's that?"

"They took it—must have broken it, I don't know—"

Its absence crippled her substantially, yes

How could she help anyone without her wand?

Tom cursed and almost lost hold on her; she stumbled a bit but he caught her just in time and she cursed him, using choicest swearwords to denounce her frustration and fear.

"You could use the cubes, I suppose," he said after a while. The scenery hadn't changed much—there were trees everywhere, broken by small patches of shrubs and even small clearings. "It will take longer than a wand but it will be more potent."

"I can use the cubes for simple spells?"

"Yes, indeed. They'll come to you easily too, since you've already mastered them in practice with a wand." He paused and dug inside his bag, drawing out the Arithmancy cubes a few seconds later. "Keep them at hand. Put them in your pocket."

She did as he bid and cursed again when she stumbled over a rock, stubbing her good toe.

Tom watched bemusedly as she hopped on one leg, cursing, spitting and throwing him angry looks.

* * *

It was everything Tom had said; only he had downplayed it.

The village was small, very small—houses erected in no organised fashion, small cleared patches and dirty paths, a few water fountains littered here and there for no apparent reason, carts and carriages resting in front of houses that no one inhabited—it was bizarre.

A predominance of the colour blue could be discerned everywhere.

"Well preserved indeed." She took a few steps towards the small house closest to her. "Why do you think it was abandoned?"

She looked back at Tom and he shrugged, sniffing at the air haltingly. He licked his dry lips and tilted his head.

"We'll stay here for the remaining night and see what we can do tomorrow. You're able to walk without a lot of pain, aren't you?"

"Yes." She touched the window sill, running an idle finger over the sheet of dust that was omnipresent. "We have no food though."

"I have some snacks here, and fruit. We'll worry about other things as they come, won't we?"

She nodded and followed him through winding lanes, overcome with a strong nostalgia—this was a village trapped in time.

They found a smallish house close to the edge. Its front door was open and when Hermione peeped in, she realised that all the furniture was intact, if a little dusty. Tom decided that they could pass the night there and so he _scourgified_ the sitting room and the bedroom, erected alarms and protective shields around the house.

They ate in silence—the food would last them a while—and then retired to the solitary bedroom. Hermione didn't think she would have had the courage to sleep in a different room even if there had been one.

And since there was only one bed, they shared.

"Where will we go?" she whispered, her head buried deep in a pillow that smelled stale. Tom reclined close to her, playing with his ring. "Aren't you worried, Tom? We have no idea of the terrain, no idea of whom to pursue or even how to return home if we wanted."

He rolled the ring between his fingers, his eyes fixedly staring out of the one window in front of them.

"We could go back," he said quietly, closing his eyes and she knew that he was scared. He was scared but he didn't show it. "We could Apparate, I suppose. Back to the first village we came from—but returning isn't an option, especially now. And as far as going ahead is concerned, I don't have a solid plan—I don't know the geography or the polity—but magic, I do know. Magic leaves traces. I'll find them, they are bound to me."

She turned her head, scrutinising his pale face closely.

Magic, he did know.

And he excelled at it.

"That man—the one who attacked me," she shivered, "he had the same sign embroidered on his cloak, the Hallows' sign."

Tom's hands stilled for a second, before he turned towards her, his silverine eyes darker now.

"Are you sure?"

She nodded, smiling wryly. "Yes." Her eyes searched his face for some sign of emotion, some clue as to what he was thinking but she failed. This was his most aggravating trait, his ability to hide his emotions and thoughts behind a veil of casualness. "Do you have a plan in mind?"

"Not at the moment, no." He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. Something unknown fluttered in her stomach and she cracked a smile. "But I will know soon."

She didn't ask him how.

She didn't have to.

She knew him well enough to believe that when he said he could do something, he _would_ do it.

There were no two ways about it.

"Do you think… can you hold my hand while I sleep?" she asked softly, staring up at the discoloured ceiling. His simply looked at her, his gaze devoid of emotion once more. "I'd feel a lot safer, especially after—"

Without a word, he entwined his fingers in the blank spaces between her fingers, and gave them a squeeze.

She closed her eyes and the world subsided, a small smile playing on her lips as she faded and dreams took over.

* * *

' _Mudblood!"_

 _"Books and cleverness,"_

She woke up, cold and shivering.

Tom wasn't there.

"Tom?" she called out, just in case he was around, but no there was no reply.

She flung her legs over the edge of her bed and crept out of the room, making as little noise as possible. Peeping around the corner, into the sitting room, she saw him.

He had knelt down on the floor, holding his ring in one hand, and he seemed to be speaking to—a _ghost_?

It must have been-a flickering grey shadow that seemed solid and gaseous at the same time. She seemed so—sad and out of place, a study in misery and despondence.

" _You will return as I bid or I will find a way to bind you here, permanently_ ," he seemed to be saying, and even though Hermione couldn't quite see his face, she felt the note of threat in his voice. Her flesh erupted in goose bumps at the chill in his tones and her feet froze in place.

"Tom?" she croaked, involuntarily drawing his attention towards her.

The flickering woman vanished in the blink of an eye and Tom whirled around, his face sliding into impassive layers of blankness before she could catch a glimpse of his true emotions.

"You woke up," he stated casually, straightening. "Do you need something?"

"No, I'm fine…" She tried to smile but failed in the face of fear and unknown. "What was that.. shadow?"

"An echo," he said, his eyes moving searchingly all over her features. "A guide, if you must—we finally have a marker and a destination."

Hermione looked at him in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

A small vein twitched in his temple.

"Grindelwald's men took our friends to Saramira, a small trading town, west of here—a day's walk. That is where we'll head. Tomorrow. Or today since it's after twelve."

Hermione was shocked at the accuracy and certainty in his voice.

"How—can you know that, for sure?"

He rubbed the ring in his hand and paused. Turning over the cloth on his wrist, he exposed his scarred skin to her once again—the black skull, the serpent invading bones, and the uncanny feeling in her stomach that the mark was somehow alive.

"We are bound, my friends and I—we've pledged association and loyalty to each other in pursuit of common goals, Hermione. This magic that binds us together—it always lets me know where they are. I told you this before, didn't I?"

"Yes." She furrowed her brows and reached out to touch his blacked skin hesitantly. The snake hissed and crawled deeper into the skull and Hermione flinched. "But how can you know for sure? And what was that an echo of? The sad woman you were threatening?"

"She told me about the exact whereabouts—I told you I _know_ magic, didn't I?" He smiled arrogantly and started walking away, towards the bedroom. "It's a long story, for some other time. We should rest for now, alright?"

Her head buzzing with confusion, she followed him to the room and lay down beside him, rankled and harried by questions and lack of understanding but she knew that even if she were to ask now, he wouldn't tell. That was one of his most infuriating traits. He never told all. And _he_ always determined the right time for revelations.

So she held her tongue and took solace in the safety of night and his shadow.

Not before long, his nimble fingers were intertwined between her soft ones and sleep was quick to come.

* * *

 **Hi guys, I hope this isn't bad. Let me know please, need some inspiration. Tell me if it sucks and I'll stop.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

* * *

"Hermione, wake up. It's time to go."

Her eyes snapped open at Tom's voice and she sat up in the ancient bed, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

"It's still dark," she said, flinging her legs over the edge of her bed. She could make out the hazy outlines of his shoulders against the window but his face was hidden in darkness.

"Yes, it is and I mean to reach our destination before evening. We'll need a clear idea of the area, the building and the people inhabiting it and for that, we need light."

Yawning, she reached for her coat.

Her hair had managed to get loose and was giving her a hard time.

"Alright," she said, tying her bushy mane behind her. "I'm ready to go."

When they left the house, the moon was still shining in the sky. It was pre-dawn.

She shivered and pulled her cloak closer to her body, keeping her eyes on the road ahead.

Tom had stayed silent all this while and she could see from the slight frown in his face that he was immersed deep in thought. He also walked faster than her and she had to jog to keep up.

When they reached the town centre, however, he halted, craning his neck sideways and it seemed like he was listening for something.

She bit her lip as a strong gust of wind hit them. It was cold, far too cold outside. She squinted up at the sky and noticed that clouds were gathering.

And still, Tom stayed immobile, his eyes glassy and his brows furrowed in concentration.

Finally, when she began to get annoyed, she crossed her arms and asked him, "What is it, Tom?"

He blinked and turned his head to face her, scowling, and she felt like he had only just noticed her presence.

"Stay here," he said and turned away from her. "I'll be right back."

And without another word, before Hermione could protest, he took off towards what look like another well-preserved building. It was larger than most and she watched his wiry form disappear in the door way.

She sighed and sat near a fountain; a beautiful construction made purely of white marble, and looked heavenwards.

 _Bugger_. It would definitely rain. And if Tom didn't return in time, she'd get soaked.

She waited for him and as time grew longer, she started wondering about things that weren't immediate concerns.

 _Her memories_ , she squeezed her eyes shut _. No, don't go there. Not now._

 _And those men_ —she swallowed. _There had been no mercy in their eyes and as such; she could believe that they were perfectly capable of murder at will. But why had they taken Tom's friends? Those idiotic boys came from wealthy families and perhaps it was for ransom—that would explain why they didn't abduct Tom as well. And yet…_

They bore the Hallows' mark and this bothered her, pricking a distant part of her mind.

 _Why the Hallows' mark? Was it mere symbolism or something more? Could it be that Grindelwald was after them? But the story was simply a myth—it couldn't be true._

She took a deep breath and stared at the dim outlines of buildings around her. _What had happened here? Why had a prosperous community simply abandoned its town?_

"There you are," Tom's voice called out from some distance and she looked up in surprise. She hadn't seen him emerge from the building. He waved her over and she rolled her eyes.

She stood up and brushed the dust off her cloak. She dragged her feet while she approached him with an annoyed look on her face.

"I thought you wanted to be early," she said accusingly. "And running away sight-seeing isn't exactly conducive to our tight schedule, is it?"

"Well, yes and we will reach in time." He had a smug look on his face and she raised her eyebrow in question.

"Why did you go running into that building then, if I might ask?"

He shrugged and turned away from her, ready to leave.

" _Well_?" she persisted, catching up with him. She matched his faster pace, not giving him a chance to evade her question. "What was so important?"

He halted and she almost ran into his back.

"All in good time, Hermione." He gave her a wink and she bristled.

"No. I want to know _now_. No secrets between us, remember." She crossed her arms and pinned him with a glare.

He was beginning to get annoyed, she could see.

"Hermione," his tone had an edge to it and she cringed inwardly, "now is not the time."

Well, she was annoyed too. She had virtually no answers to any of her questions and this had to stop.

"Well, I am not moving until you tell me. I'm sick and tired of not being in the know, especially when you have the answers and won't tell me." It was the wrong time to throw a tantrum and especially in a place like this but there was this block in her mind—she couldn't take it anymore and she had no reason why. "I thought we were partners, and if we are to remain so we can't have secrets between us."

Tom tilted his head and she thought she saw something crimson cross his silver gaze but she stood her ground. Let him be mad if he wanted to. She wouldn't move until he told her. And this might only be a small victory, but it would be worth it.

For the longest time, he stood staring at her, his face expressionless and his eyes intently focussed on her face.

"Very well," he said finally. "If you must know, _dear Hermione_ , then here's your answer: I went inside the building to fetch this."

She winced at the razor edge in his voice but her attention was immediately drawn to a small crystal orb that he withdrew from his pocket. It was the size of a small tennis ball, and inside it swirled snow.

Snow.

She felt cold.

"What is it?"

"I don't know but I mean to find out."

"I can't believe you went in for… _this_. I mean, it might just be a toy."

He gave her a look that clearly meant to ask ' _how stupid are you'_ without him uttering the words.

"It's not a toy or I wouldn't have noticed it." He rolled his eyes. "Just hold your tongue and listen, for once. It's not that hard to distinguish magical object from others. And you're a witch, aren't you?"

Much as she wanted to give him a fitting reply and wipe that condescending smirk off his face, her interest was piqued. Now that he mentioned it, she could see that there was something different about it. She closed her eyes slightly, her eyelids half open, and the strong hum was unmistakable…

It was no toy.

"I could hear it buzzing, even when we were in the house," Tom said, pocketing the tiny orb.

"It's very strong, isn't it?"

He nodded imperceptibly. "I don't know what it is or what it does, but I'll know soon. I'm good at magic, aren't I?"

"You're too arrogant when it comes to magic, you know."

"And why not? I've earned the right, don't you think? Oh don't look so annoyed, Hermione; truth isn't something to turn your nose up at—you need to relax and accept it."

She rolled her eyes at his statement and punched his shoulder lightly.

His eyes were mirthful, dancing in humour now.

She liked that. She liked it when he smiled, and when he laughed. She even liked it when he declared arrogantly, far too often for her liking, that his skills at magic were unsurpassed.

* * *

A heavy drizzle covered the world around them—the trees, the cracked mud and the sky. Tom sat motionless under a tree, vaguely aware of the sounds that rain made. Not a single drop fell on them, of course. An invisible dome of a water repelling charm covered them and the tree, and as such they were dry. Cold was another case entirely. Of course, he could draw them a fire but he refrained from it. It could invite unwanted attention.

He glanced at Hermione—she had fallen asleep whilst they waited for the rain to subside, her head leaning against his shoulder and her arms hugging herself tightly.

She was so—infuriating. His eyes travelled to the stray curls that had spread around her face, marring her features here and there, and his lips cracked in a small smile. Stubborn and irksome, like a housefly.

And in every aspect, she was hard to understand. He could list more than twenty flaws he found in her, off the top of his head, ranging from lack of beauty to distinct, unladylike behaviour. And there was very little to like in her, very little—and yet…

His thoughts shifted to their destination. They were close, less than an hour away, which was why he had deemed it alright to rest for a while before they moved on. He was sure of the location—the boys would be there.

"Tom?"

His attention went to her, surprised that she had woken up so quickly.

She did not remove her head from his shoulder though and he didn't mind.

"It's so cold."

He could feel her shivering.

"Only for a little while," he answered, wondering if he should start a fire. No _, it would be unwise._

She shifted and removed her head, moving her neck sideways while she rubbed the back of her neck.

"I've been thinking—do we have a plan for when we reach the town? To—you know…"

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the rainfall.

"Yes, but I can only know fully once we reach there and scout the area for probable dangers."

She didn't reply for a while and he looked at the sky once more, breathing in the damp smell of rainfall. He had always loved storms, for as long as he could remember—they opened an unknown door in his soul, or whatever remained of it, and he remembered feeling joy.

 _Joy, what a treacherous word_.

Nothing gave him joy anymore, though. The rain simply eased the burn.

His plans had been waylaid disastrously and the trip had failed utterly—unless… But he couldn't know for sure and there was no point in striking unless he knew. But all that could wait.

All this while, he realised, Hermione had been speaking and he had missed her conversation entirely.

"Well?" she said—perhaps she had asked a question.

"What was that again?"

She shook her head, cracking her knuckles. "You weren't listening, were you? Honestly, sometimes you're as bad as Malfoy!"

He snorted.

She glared at him.

"You know it's true, don't you?" she repeated, arms crossed. He raised a disbelieving eyebrow at her. _Really now, she could have chosen someone better for comparison._

"How so?" he humoured her; there was very little to do and they had to bide their time until the rain stopped.

"Well, for one thing—you're both arrogant."

He inclined his head. "Yes, but you forget that my arrogance stems from real knowledge and power whereas Malfoy—well, he's just drunk on wealth and influence. Two entirely different things, when you think about it."

"Nah," she said, clicking her tongue at him. "Arrogance is still arrogance, no matter the reason behind it."

"Hmm. What else?"

"Well, you're both ambitious—I won't go into the reasons or your goals, but the bare facts are enough—you wouldn't have ventured out here, and all those boys wouldn't have followed unless there was something to gain by the trip, no?"

She was close, quite close, and it surprised him.

"Friendship is a good reason, don't you think?" he tried to wrong foot her, hoping she'd take the bait and agree with him.

"No, I don't believe that one bit. It doesn't take long to judge that friendship isn't a motivator."

He turned towards her completely, looking straight into her eyes.

"And you? Why are you here with me? You didn't have to come—with us, blindly, into this expedition. Even now, you can go you know. Or stay here, away from danger—I am quite capable of handling my matters alone. Are you guilty of ambition too, Hermione?"

She opened and closed her mouth several times, and finally looked away.

"I'm here because you're my only friend in the world, Tom, and you know that quite well. If I learn something from you and others along the way, that's a different case altogether."

She looked flushed and he wondered why. But he did not doubt her words. It was another one of her faults—as far as he had known her, she was transparent—guileless in so many ways that it annoyed him to no end.

"I believe you."

She nodded in acknowledgement and gazed up at the sky.

"We could go. Your impervious charm will hold even while we walk. There's no need to stay here anymore."

He stayed silent for a while, watching her quietly while she watched the grey clouds.

"A little more time," he said, rubbing his Slytherin ring in his palm, away from her sight. "It won't be long before the rain ceases altogether and I want to have the benefit of complete sight."

She said nothing and he watched as she drew out an apple from his backpack, taking a huge bite from its red crust, not even bothering to offer him some.

* * *

It was a small town, hardly the size of a large village, and sparsely populated. A river ran through it and was used as the main transport route. As Tom had said, it was a small trading outpost, nothing more.

They crouched behind a few bushes, close to a warehouse, and scanned the area. So far, it seemed deserted.

"Is this it?" she asked in confusion.

Tom nodded imperceptibly, his silver eyes glistening and he took in the entire scene. "This is it. The boys are in there and we have to figure out a way to get to them."

"How do you know for sure?"

His shoulders went taut but he did not turn towards her. "Now is not the time for questions, Hermione. Follow my lead."

His tone had such finality to it that she could not protest.

And without a warning, he took off towards the backdoor. She paused in surprise but gathered her wits about her quickly, and launched after him.

He pressed a finger on his lips, indicating her to keep quiet while they sneaked through the small corridor. The warehouse seemed to have various levels for some reason and Hermione wondered why. Entry hadn't been difficult at all. The backdoor had been unlocked and they simply had to walk in. So far, they hadn't caught sight of anyone around.

She kept close to him, breathing silently. Her head flitted to and fro while she took in every bit of the interior. Her heart beat loudly and she was afraid of getting caught any moment.

Tom halted suddenly and she almost yelped in surprise.

He withdrew his wand and tapped her shoulder and she felt cool liquid begin to flow through her skin. Of course, a Disillusionment charm. He repeated the same for himself and Hermione felt better immediately.

For all intents and purposes, they were invisible.

As soon as he was finished, he grabbed her hand and led her forward. It was safer, she reflected. Despite the disillusionment charm, his hands felt wonderfully soft and large.

They passed by a small room. The door was slightly ajar and she could hear voices, loud voices. She also caught the stench of alcohol.

Tom tugged at her hand, urging her to move quickly. The stairs at the end of the corridor were close by and she tried to make very little sound as she climbed upstairs.

The first floor landing was just as bare as the ground floor and she felt claustrophobic. She turned her head this way and that, wondering if there was someone around. It seemed deserted and she breathed a sigh of relief, concluding that they had passed undetected so far.

"Which room?" she whispered in his ear.

"The last one, I think," he answered, not letting go of her hand, and she was dragged towards it. She heard, rather than saw, Tom turn the handle. It was locked.

She felt him reach for his wand and the lock opened a second later, its loud click making her bite her tongue.

The inside of that room was bare and without windows. The wooden floor creaked under their feet and the ceiling was too low.

No furniture graced the room, however, and in one sweep of her gaze she took in everything.

The boys were there, alright. They were conscious too but it looked like someone had beaten the shit out of them. They were also tied to the wall behind them, manacles clamped on their wrists, and Hermione thought they looked deathly pale.

"Malfoy."

The boy looked up in surprise. He seemed to be largely unhurt and his blonde hair was a dirty colour. But he hadn't heard them enter. She could see large, angry red marks lining his pale skin and she was reminded of her own bruises. She had taken the worst of them, when she had fought those men, and the boys had simply surrendered.

"You came," he whispered hoarsely, coughing. Perhaps he wasn't unhurt after all. "I didn't think you would."

Tom said nothing and turned his head towards Lestrange. Despite his desperate situation, he seemed bored.

"Lestrange, are you ready?"

"Ready when you are," the dark-haired boy replied. "Mulciber might need some assistance though."

Hermione's attention went to the plump boy in the corner. His eyes were scared and his face tear-stained. He was the most pathetic sight of all and her heart went out to him.

"What—why did they do this to you?" Words left her mouth before she could think.

"Not now," Tom cut off Malfoy just as he was about to reply. His eyes went to Avery, who had his head buried in his knees. He hadn't even looked up. "We need to get out of here, silent and fast. Is he awake?" He pointed his thumb at Avery.

"Yes."

Avery looked up this time and swallowed when he saw Tom's face. "Tom—I—"

"Not now, Avery. Later."

He nodded quietly and Tom set to freeing the boys of their manacles whilst Hermione stood watching, feeling quite unhelpful once more. She couldn't do anything but stare. She had no wand. And the cubes— _no, not now_.

"Have they checked in? The captors?"

"No. Not since yesterday."

"Good. This won't take long and then we should hope that our luck holds out."

Within a few minutes, the boys were freed. Malfoy stood gingerly and Hermione noticed that he was limping. Avery on the other hand, could walk normally and Hermione wondered why he hadn't been punished as much as the others. Lestrange straightened quietly and helped Mulciber.

"How do we get out now—we have no wands, and all of us are hurt." Malfoy voiced the question that had been hanging on the tip of her tongue.

"We improvise," Tom replied casually, scanning the room. "I'll disillusion us all—it won't last very long but it should be just enough so that we can get out of this building. Avery and Lestrange, you help Mulciber—Malfoy will lead and I'll take the rear. Hermione, stay close."

The trip downstairs was more harrowing than the one upstairs—every moment Hermione was afraid of being caught and the slightest sound made her jumpy. Mulciber was heavy, and Lestrange and Avery were slow but they managed to reach the backdoor without much incident.

She was thanking the stars that their luck had held out and she was almost sure, when they stepped out of the door, that they'd manage to escape.

This was the moment when things began to go wrong.

Horribly wrong.

The Disillusionment charm wore off as soon as they climbed down the stairs. A loud yell rang across the yard and she looked up in horror, noticing the men who had only just emerged from the forest path.

The very path Tom had meant to take home.

Another man shouted something and began to run towards them, ready to attack, and they were trapped. Behind them lay the warehouse and in front of them were their adversaries.

" _Shit!"_ Tom cursed, flinging a well aimed stunner at the closest man. It hit him squarely in the chest and he slumped against the ground. "Alright, this is desperate. I had meant to avoid this but there is no other way. We're running towards the river. Now. Take any exit you can find and just find your way to the docks."

He ran to one side and a curse barely missed him. Hermione's senses returned to her and she followed after him, running as fast as she could. She heard others follow behind and more shouts went up in the clearing. The warehouse lights began to come on and she urged her legs to run faster, after Tom, taking cover of the walls and the trees as much as she could. Behind her, she could hear Malfoy limping as fast as he could. But there was no sign of Avery, Mulciber and Lestrange.

Grindelwald's men must have been surprised at their sudden escape and it gave Hermione a small amount of time but she could hear the louder thuds of their boots chasing them. She turned a corner, Malfoy following close behind, and she found herself in an alley.

"Which way to the river?" Malfoy panted, halting only for a second.

"I don't know," she said hurriedly and chose one path. "Just run, there's no time to waste."

She ran blindly into the night, turning this corner and that, and it was surprising that she didn't run into anyone. There were no pedestrians, no townspeople to speak of. But she could hear the men following them, close behind, and no matter how hard she tried, they couldn't lose them.

Her breath was beginning to get shorter now and there was no sign of Tom.

Suddenly, Malfoy stumbled and fell down behind her.

" _You idiot_!" She ran back to him, holding out her hand. "Get up, get up—if they catch us because you could not run, I swear—"

She didn't get a chance to finish her sentence, for just then, she heard him.

" _Don't move."_

A loud command.

A burly man with auburn hair and piggish eyes, probably in his forties, stood at the end of the dark lane. He had his wand pointed straight at her and the cold look in his eyes told her that he would murder her without question if she disobeyed.

Behind him, more men poured into the alley, cursing, yelling—she couldn't make out their words but it wasn't going to be anything good. The one in the front though, he seemed to know English, and he moved towards her with slow, sure steps.

She stepped backwards, all thoughts of aiding Malfoy forgotten from her mind.

"So you're the girl who fought my men?"

She swallowed. One of Grindelwald's men had already reached Malfoy by now and Hermione watched in horror as he kicked the boy in stomach, landing him face down, and Hermione thought she heard his rib bones crack.

 _She had to do something_ , she thought as she eyed the brutish man standing before her. She stepped back once more, ignoring the pained cries of Malfoy, and her hands shook as she reached for her cubes.

She had no chance to use them; however, for just then, the burly man moved quickly and slammed her into the wall.

She screamed.

The cubes tumbled out of her fingers and landed far away from her.

"My master wants everyone imprisoned—everyone who enters his territory—but your presence won't be missed, little girl," he snarled, pushing all his weight against her. "My men said you fought bravely but lost—and imagine my surprise to find that you walked free somehow and returned here to rescue your friends. But there will be time for questions later. Where is Luke? Tell me!"

He must be talking about the last man—the man Tom said was dead.

She didn't answer him, choosing to struggle in his grasp, but he was far too strong and the bones in her back burned like they were on fire.

"Luke was one of my most loyal men, little girl, and if you won't loosen your tongue willingly, I will have to use other ways. Believe me, you don't want me to try them."

As if to lend credence to his warning, his hands moved dangerously close to her thigh.

"Please," she gasped in pain. "Let us go. We're innocent—we haven't done anything."

His crooked smile ran cold currents down her spine.

"You want to go? Free? Answer my question—simple, isn't it?"

His right hand surrounded her slender neck and his fingernails were ready to bite into her flesh.

She took one last look at Malfoy, bleeding and crumpled in the street. Grindelwald's men were everywhere and Tom—

"He's dead," she croaked. "There was a fire, back at the inn—no one survived."

His blue eyes widened in surprise and anger and he removed his weight away from her, releasing her throat.

"He was my son," he whispered and everything went quiet. "And you lie."

And quite suddenly, without warning, he slapped her hard.

She lost balance and hit the ground, barely registering the pain that had become inevitable and was present everywhere. He yanked her by the hair and dragged her to the middle of the street. She struggled against his grasp, scratching, trying to bite but it was no good.

" _Let me go, you bastard_!" she shouted, trying to find some area to punch, but she knew it was futile.

She was fighting a losing war.

She did manage to land a kick in his legs and he buckled but recovered quickly.

"You bitch!" He grabbed her by the hair once again, and kicked her in the stomach _._ She howled and doubled over, coughing violently. He tore off her cloak and the right portion of her sleeve. She bit his hand but he didn't relent—an animalistic growl left his throat when he slapped her once more and she hit her head against the ground, her body going limp as survival instinct took over and she braced herself for another wave of violence

" _That is enough."_

 _Tom_?

With great effort, she moved her neck.

He stood on the other side of the lane, with Avery and Lestrange—both the boys had wands.

The man let go of her, either due to surprise or because he had found another adversary, she couldn't say. He stood up and faced Tom.

"You should have run, little _children_ , when you had a chance."

If she had believed Tom to be angry before, it was nothing compared to how he looked now. Never had she seen his mask of calmness torn off this violently before. His eyes were crimson and his jaw taut. His knuckles were white from holding his wand too tightly.

And there was this tick, this violent tick in the corner of his mouth—he looked like a small cloack ready to go off any second, causing the world to crumple under the strength of his rage.

It was perhaps her imagination but she could see darkness swirl around him like a cloak, like some sort of demonic entity ready to engulf him and yet he stood there unharmed, challenging.

"Run?" Tom chuckled. "Indeed. We plan to do just that, _mongrel_ , but before that—"

The man didn't know what hit him. In less than a second, a silent curse left Tom's wand and hit the man right between his eyes.

He let out a terrifying scream and fell to the ground, his eyes bleeding and dark, his skin leaking black liquid—Hermione felt bile rise in throat.

Grindelwald's men, who had hitherto been watching quietly, let out a shout and moved to attack Tom but he was too quick for them. He moved his wand in a circular pattern, whispering a soft incantation, and a large blue shield rose between them, dividing the lane into two halves.

She knew the shield. It was dark and powerful—no curse could break it –but it only lasted a few minutes.

She could see the men trying futilely to break the shield with their weak spells but to no avail.

"Hermione." Tom reached for her as soon as the immediate threat subsided. "Are you okay?"

"No, but I will be," she replied hoarsely. "How long until the shield drops?"

"Long enough." She could see genuine concern shining in his grey eyes and his thin lips were— "I'll have to carry you—but you'll be fine. Yes?"

Yes.

Of course.

"Yes."

* * *

"They'll follow us," Lestrange said to him, squinting in the darkness. The boat had been loaded when they decided to enter it. It bobbed up and down, gently, and Tom knew that they would have to hurry. "What do we do now?"

There was enough space for every one—there was shade and a smallish cabin.

But they had to hurry.

His eyes landed on Hermione. She rested in a corner, covered with his cloak—his eyes went to the angry red marks on her shoulder, her bleeding lip, and the large gash across her cheek—he hadn't had the time to heal her but that would be remedied shortly.

"Now," he closed his eyes and peace flowed through him like wind, "we watch this town burn."

Lestrange had a confused look in his eyes but being the intelligent boy that he was, comprehension dawned on him shortly.

He swallowed, horrified.

"You don't mean—is it even possible?"

He said nothing and turned away, raising his wand.

Crimson fire erupted from his wand, landing on top of the dockyard and the wooden building went up in blaze, crackling madly—screaming, laughing—he watched as it spread towards the town, cackling wildly, like some animal unleashed after thousands of years in captivity. It destroyed everything in its path and spread to the interior like flood.

"Yes, Lestrange. I'm quite sure it's possible. Loosen the anchor—we need to sail away quickly. The fire should cover our tracks perfectly."

Lestrange said nothing for a few seconds, his black eyes reflecting the horror he felt. He gaped open mouthed at the rising flames, the destructive Fiendfyre unleashed from the black rage that Tom felt, and hurried to draw up the anchor.

 _Gods, there were people in there_ , he thought as he tried to block out the screams that rose up in the night. He sneaked one look at Tom, who was sitting hunched over Hermione, and looked away.

* * *

So thanks to everyone who reviewed.. JuliSt Infernalbooks XxAngry-Evil-PoptartsxX brighteyes2889 oslca35 and every one else. Your reviews make me write more and faster.

I wonder if you liked this chapter, I don't really know for sure, so please tell me.

Oh and one more thing, do you think this story hold together so far? Have I made Tom too dark in this chapter? Do you like Hermione? The story is picking up pace and expect more revelations and twists soon. SO please read and review.

Oh and I need a beta reader so if anyone is up for it, please let me know. I'll be ever so grateful.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

* * *

"Coffee, Hermione?" Abraxas offered, waving a pretty kettle in front of her face.

She looked up in surprise.

"No, thank you," she replied slowly, glancing at the setting sun. "Do you have any idea when we'll arrive at our destination, whatever it may be?"

Abraxas shrugged and sat down on the wooden bench, close to the rigging, and took a sip from his mismatching cup. "I don't think anyone knows. We're just—sailing until we find another town or dock. I suppose Tom might know, though."

Hermione wrapped her blanket around her feet and leaned back, using the wooden board for a headrest. "I haven't spoken to him since I woke up—Avery said he gave directions to keep sailing and shut himself in the cabin. Any idea what he's doing down there?"

"No," he said, his eyes fixed at a distant point on the horizon. "I woke up around the same time as you and he had already shut himself in by then. But then again, since when did Tom make clear his plans?"

Never.

Hermione tried to shift in her seat but winced at the pain that ran through her back at the small movement.

Abraxas watched her face quietly.

"They beat you pretty bad," he said, taking another sip.

"No more than you," she replied.

He tilted his head in agreement and Hermione thought there was something very different about his interactions with her this time. For one thing, he had made no scathing comments about her person. And secondly, he had voluntarily sought out her company and was making an effort to talk.

He was being nice for a change.

"What's Mulciber doing?" she asked, eyeing the plump boy who was bent over the edge of their boat.

"Retching into the river would be my guess," Malfoy supplied. "He's never been one for water transports."

She chuckled at his answer and her eyes went to the other two boys who sat quietly in a corner, immersed in deep conversation. They looked unhurt, of course, just as Mulciber did.

She and Malfoy had taken the worst hit apparently.

"I hope that gash won't leave a scar on your face," Abraxas pointed with his finger as he finished his coffee and sat down his cup on the floor. "The bastard cut you up bad."

"He did." She touched her skin absently. "Although, I am more worried about the state of my ribs rather than a petty scar on my face, to be honest."

His eyes went to her shoulders and trailed down to her back.

"It'll be fine once we can get some potions, I believe. We'll visit a healer in the next town as soon as we stop and they can fix up your back and my arm. Does it hurt so very bad?"

His question was oddly sympathetic, coming from a pompous ass like Malfoy.

"No, not too bad, but I can feel that something's wrong," she replied, scanning his face curiously. "You're being uncharacteristically friendly, aren't you?"

She had expected him to mock her or revert back to abusive sarcasm in response to her question but he did nothing of the kind.

Instead, he stared straight into her eyes.

"It is not mere altruism on my part, believe me," he answered, frowning. "I am a lot of things but never an ingrate. I cannot forget that you stopped and came back for me when I fell down—you could have run and saved yourself but you didn't, I—am grateful for that."

"Much good it did to either of us." She snorted bitterly. "Besides, we are all in this together—any of your friends would have done the same for you, not that I am your friend."

"They wouldn't." He shook his head. "You forget that they left me to die at the wolves' feet back in the forest."

She _had_ forgotten that.

She really had.

 _Was that why Tom had cautioned her against his friends?_

 _Because they could only be trusted to save their own skin?_

She said nothing in response and merely looked at the river that stretched for miles before them. It wasn't a fast moving river or anything. It looked deep though and was flanked by tall trees on either bank. The setting sun left very little light to the world and Hermione felt cold.

When she had woken up that afternoon, she had been surprised and relieved to find herself on the boat. Lestrange had been sitting close to her at that moment and he had given terse replies to her questions about Tom, the escape and everything else. Something told her that he didn't particularly want to talk to her just then, apart from bare necessities, and that was strange in itself for he had actively sought her out in the pub a day ago.

And he had been friendly back then.

Mulciber and Avery had been distant as well, asking after her health in formal tones and then they had crawled back to their corner, smoking some kind of weed they had uncovered from the cabin underneath.

Tom, of course, was locked up in the cabin. She would have gone to him but her first effort at standing up had brought searing pain down her back and she decided to let it be.

The boat, again, had been a surprise. She had no doubt in her mind that they had stolen it and she would have worried about ethical implications had it not been for the fact that she had more immediate worries that demanded her attention.

Suddenly, Avery shouted something, waving Malfoy over. The light was dim but her eyes travelled in the general direction towards which he was waving.

"There's a village up ahead," Avery called out. "Get Tom, Abraxas."

Squinting, Hermione saw a small wooden building and what looked like a dock situated on the right bank. Even the trees were sparse up ahead. There was probably a village down there, she thought and snuggled into her blanket as Malfoy climbed down the stairs to fetch Tom.

* * *

An hour later, they were still sailing the calm river.

They hadn't docked at the small town, or the next village, as Hermione had hoped. Malfoy had emerged from the stairway that led to the cabin below, shaking his head in dismay.

Tom had outright refused to allow him entry and had shouted at him to _'keep sailing'_.

No halts.

No stops.

Just the cool wind blowing in her face, stinging, lashing—and the calm moon rising behind the thick canopy of trees.

The water was calm and deep and she was tempted to lean over and slide her fingers across the shiny, dark surface.

She would have, too, if her back didn't hurt so much.

Despite all the people crowding the deck above, she was left alone. Only Malfoy had seemed to be interested in speaking with her before this, but he too was sulking in a corner, staring ahead.

She sat watching the moon, wondering about the stars and a familiar trickle of something unpleasant crept down her back.

She had a feeling that she was being watched.

She arched her head sideways, squinting.

 _Lestrange_.

He was watching her again, with the same intent look in his eyes and the uncanny curl of his pink, full lips. He sat closer to her, on the bench next to her, and he had his chin propped up in his palms.

"You're doing it again," she commented.

"Doing what?" he asked.

"Watching me. Without a reason. It's creepy."

He scooted closer to her seat and tilted his head…

"You're very intriguing, didn't you know?"

 _A flattery._

She refused to fall for it.

"Right. I believe that completely," she added sarcastically.

"No, really." He leaned closer to where she rested her head against the plank. "You're not like most of the people I know and that's saying something—I know a lot of people. Besides, you remind me of my sister."

She turned her head.

"Why? Does she look like me?"

"No. Not at all. In fact, she's very different from you in looks and personality—and yet, you remind me of her."

 _Odd_ , Hermione thought, scanning his face in the moonlight.

"You must be close then," she reflected. "Or else you wouldn't be thinking of her right now."

He shrugged and lit a cigarette.

He didn't offer her any, she noticed.

"So—remember we were talking the other night? At the inn?"

Of course she remembered. She had gotten piss drunk and made out with Tom in front of everyone.

Her cheeks burned in embarrassment at the memory.

She nodded.

"Again, I am pushed to ask you the same question—how well do you know Tom?"

"Well enough," she snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. "Why do you keep asking me that? It is annoying you know, and I do have other things to worry about at present than amusing you."

"Relax, darling, I'm simply trying to strike up a conversation," he said lazily. "And besides, I only ask this question because you're not the usual kind of company he keeps. You lack the essential motivation that attracts people to him. And neither are you the kind of person he likes to keep close, as a _friend_."

 _Darling?_

 _A term of endearment?_

He made it sound so… dirty.

Hermione was beginning to dislike the boy more and more with each passing second.

She shifted on her bench, stifling a groan as the wood pressed against a tender spot and pain coursed through her bones.

Lestrange watched her quietly.

"It's not very—comfortable, is it? Come Hermione, did you really expect to be in danger when you set out with us? You didn't. And that leads to another question: why did you come with us? I mean, do you even _know_ what we're doing here?"

He did have valid points, Hermione considered. And no, she hadn't expected to face any sort of danger when she had followed Tom there. For her, it had always been a chance for vacation, a visit with her friend—she didn't care one bit why he was seeking some German man and what he wanted to do with him. She had come because Tom was her friend and she liked his company—but the way Lestrange talked, it seemed like there might be more to this little excursion.

It _had_ ceased to be fun a long time ago.

 _No. Don't think this. This is what he wants._

 _He wants you to doubt_.

"I see that you're thinking," he tapped his temple, a snide smile curling on face. "I have known Tom for a very long time, you know, ever since we were children and Tom devised the most exquisite forms of play for us. Since then, I have known that Tom is a very resourceful individual. Let me put it this way—you see this bubbling river before us, believe me when I say this that none of us wants to stay another moment in this country but we're still here, drifting aimlessly. _Do you know why_? Because Tom wants it. And do not for a moment believe that we couldn't get out of here if he wished to leave— _he_ _is_ _resourceful_ , above all—we're still here because _he_ wants to be here, God only knows why."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"What is your point?" she asked tersely.

"Simply an advice—keep your eyes and ears open." His eyes flitted from her face to the stairs that led to Tom's cabin. "You're not the usual sort that hangs out with us and neither are you someone who is motivated by power or greed—you're too naïve to be—"

But she didn't hear the rest of his words, for presently, Malfoy dropped by. He seemed to have recovered from his sulking fit or whatever and was seemingly scowling at Lestrange.

"Mind if I join the conversation?" He gave Lestrange a sharp look and stuffed himself on the bench, between him and Hermione.

"Actually, I was just about to leave." Lestrange inclined his head towards Malfoy, his eyes lingering on Hermione, and left.

Malfoy snorted at his retreating back.

She didn't mind Lestrange leaving. The boy gave her the creeps, honestly. And his farfetched warnings were too vague to be of any real use to her. Besides, she trusted Tom more than any of his friends.

 _And hadn't he dragged her aside to warn her about them before they started their journey?_

But then again, Tom _was_ resourceful.

 _Why were they still hanging around here with murderers on loose_?

She noticed that there was a lot of dirt clinging to Malfoy's bright, blonde hair.

"Nothing really. He was just—I don't know, talking about keeping my eyes and ears open or something." She ran a hand through her hair, sighing lightly. "I could use a smoke—all this excitement has got my nerves on frazzle, I could use a calming whiff. By the way, are we ever stopping? I don't like drifting aimlessly on a river, with no destination in mind."

Malfoy shrugged, watching Lestrange's figure thoughtfully.

"Tom might have some idea but so far, he hasn't really told any of us about it."

"I want to go home. Every moment it's something or the other, out of the frying pan into the fire—it's just—"

"Me too."

She looked at him in surprise.

She was glad that he shared the sentiment.

"So where are we going?" she repeated.

"No idea. You could try banging on Tom's door and ask him yourself. He might open it for you."

Something in his voice told Hermione that his last comment wasn't entirely innocent.

 _He might open it for you._

"I would but my back's killing me. I am not risking a dislocation just to enquire about our destination." She pouted at the moon. "This is the worst trip—vacation ever."

Malfoy chuckled lightly, using the fingers of his hands to smoothen his sideburns. " _You thought this was vacation?_ "

"Well, no, but I didn't exactly bank on running away from potential murderers and sociopaths every time I stepped foot in an inn somewhere, did I?" She scanned the scar on her forearm. _Fuck , this would remain etched on her skin for a long time._ "It was so horrible back in the alley, I thought we were going to die—do you know how we escaped?"

Malfoy seemed to stiffen at her question.

"Tom helped."

"Yes, but how—"

"I don't know. I passed out, remember? I suggest you ask him."

She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

She would ask him when he saw it fit to deign them with his bloody presence.

 _The jerk_.

"I like you better when you're not insulting me, you know," she said to Malfoy, playing with a stray curl. "You're almost— _bearable_."

A sneer twisted on his lips, the shadow of its former self.

" _Likewise_."

* * *

"We're stopping in a jungle?" the girl exclaimed wildly, her nostrils flaring.

Abraxas found the situation quite amusing, honestly. If there was someone, anyone who could wrong foot and step up to Tom, it was _her_. She was smart and powerful, he'd give her that, but she was crass and too—unladylike. She didn't wear proper clothes or becoming makeup, she stuck out her tongue childishly when she ran out of argument and most importantly, she treated Tom like her private punch bag.

 _What an embarrassment._

Tom tapped idly on his wand, the white monstrosity that Abraxas had no desire to be at the wrong end of, and he could see that Tom was irritated.

"Yes," he said curtly, raising his chin. "We'll leave the boat at the next convenient location and disappear into the forest."

The girl had a disbelieving look on her face, as if she wasn't sure she had heard right. She had been like that ever since Tom emerged from his self-inflicted isolation. He had come up to the deck and Abraxas had seen that he went to her first, despite the fact that there were others present, others who had been closer, less irritating.

Abraxas had been leaning over the steering wheel at the time and raised voices had drawn his attention to the deck.

Enquiring, he had found that Hermione and Tom were having a row.

Apparently, she wanted to go home immediately and Tom wasn't having any of that.

Then all the others had gathered around and Tom had declared, irked, that they would leave the boat and go into the forest on the eastern side.

"No, we're not." She crossed her arms, glaring at Tom. Sometimes, she really was funny. "I want to go home. I am done with this place and its chaos and murderers—this is it, Tom, you are taking us all home. _Right now_."

 _Impossible_.

 _She was either impossibly brave or really stupid_ , Abraxas thought. But then again, she had come back for him, tried to help him in the alley—

"Fine. You can get off at the next town and catch a bus—home." Tom crossed his arms too, and Malfoy could see that he was annoyed, but there was none of that violent tick in his jaw that foretold violence. "We, however, are staying."

 _Interesting_.

That seemed to deflate her resistance a little.

 _She couldn't go alone now, could she?_

"Why do you even want to stay in this dangerous place? I mean—you got what came for, you found the man, right? Whatever his name was—so why should we stay here and invite more trouble?"

Tom ran a hand through his dark hair, his silver eyes fixed on her face.

More precisely, her _scar_.

"Because, Hermione, in case you haven't noticed, and I don't expect that you did, we don't _have_ another option." His eyes met Abraxas's. "The only quick way out of this country for us is to use a portkey—and that option just isn't available to us right now. I don't want to stay in this place anymore than you do but I am a reasonable person and I don't expect miracles. We are not getting off the river to go artefact hunting in the forest—we're going in because it's the shortest way to the village where a portkey _is_ installed. Also, the forest will cover our tracks completely. Anywhere else, we would stand out as non natives."

 _What_?

 _Did Tom really say that?_

Abraxas didn't believe it one bit—no one who knew Tom would.

But…

She was so transparent, like a sheet of plastic spread over the table, and he could discern all the emotions that crossed her face: surprise, disbelief, suspicion-he eyes went to Lestrange, the bastard must have said something to her-he was always meddling, but she shook her head a moment later and her eyes cleared, brimming with more confidence and faith when she next looked at Tom. She believed him.

For some stupid reason, she believed him.

She gaped like an open-mouthed fish.

"Oh." She bit her lip. "I didn't know that—you could have said it earlier. It would have saved me the embarrassment."

Tom smirked. "And where would be the fun in that, Hermione?"

Her name.

It sounded so twisted when he said it, as if her name was a prison Tom wanted to clamp upon her soul.

 _What was that thought?_

 _Gosh_ , Abraxas thought, _I must be really losing it_.

So this is how he controls her—by lying.

Nothing new or novel in that, of course. Tom was a master of lies—he could bend truth more skilfully than a politician, better than his grandfather even, and Abraxas had always admired him for it.

"Well then," Tom clapped his hand and rubbed them together, "it's settled—we dock at the next soft point and disembark. Avery, Mulciber—follow me, there is something I would like to speak with you two about."

He left.

Hermione's eyes met his and he smirked at her.

 _Poor girl._

 _So naïve… but then, what was Tom doing with her?_

* * *

He smoked and watched from afar. His arm was still broken and nobody had really cared to ask after his well-being.

Except—her.

Docking had been easier than he had expected—and as soon as their rations were out on the shore, Tom had let loose the boat. He had watched with solemn expression as it bobbed in and out of sight, carried onward by winds and Abraxas had wondered where it would end up.

 _A safer place than they were likely to find_ , he thought.

He had watched as Tom walked with Hermione, his right arm supporting her full weight for she was still incapacitated. He had watched the scene with mild amusement and growing concern.

' _For a single, sweet smile from my beloved, I would lay slaughter to an entire nation'_

His grandfather had sung these lines to his grandmother and he still remembered them.

Watching him and her walk together—for some reason, those lines came back to him— _maybe it was the silent shadows of night, but did he catch a look of concern in Tom's eye_ s?

That would be a first.

They hadn't made much progress into the forest, covered as it was with thick bushes and brambles, mostly thorny, and after a few minutes, Tom had suddenly decided they needed to halt—camp for the night.

Abraxas's eyes had immediately gone to Hermione's pale face and the fact that she couldn't even breathe without hissing.

The bones in her ribs must have—shattered and some pieces must have entered her lungs. Gods only knew how she was alive. And judging by Tom's eyes that glanced her way every now and then, he must know that she needed to see a healer soon.

Abraxas was a curious boy by nature.

He had waited around, closer than others, and listened to their conversation.

"I don't feel very good," she had whispered, flinching when Tom tried to straighten her posture. "I need to see a doctor."

 _A doctor_?

"And you will," Tom had crooned in soft tones, it was all a very hush-hush affair—clearly, Tom had not wanted eavesdroppers. Why though? It wasn't like anyone who knew him would ever be misled into thinking that he had—feelings for the girl.

He choked on his own wild imagination.

It must be blasphemous, in some corner of hell, to consider a thought like that.

"Rest a bit, Hermione. Tomorrow, we'll find professional help."

 _Was it just his eyes or did he really see him press her hand?_

Malfoy had seen Tom with his girlfriend, and he knew how well Tom acted, especially towards women—but this—

It disturbed him.

She had fallen asleep by the time Tom had called a meeting, some way off the campsite, and Abraxas figured that he would finally tell them what it was that kept them here.

Oh, joy.

"Don't slouch, Abraxas—it is so unbecoming," Mulciber had jibed, despite the fact that he knew how badly injured his arm was. The boy had never liked him.

Malfoy ignored him. His eyes were fixed on Tom, who seemed to be considering some monologue—he had a tendency to wax eloquent on occasions such as these, and everyone humoured him for the alternative was, well, painful.

"You all know why you're here."

It was a statement.

Malfoy, Lestrange and Avery said nothing. They were smart enough.

"No." Mulciber shook his head.

"Get a brain, Mulciber," Malfoy commented, glancing quickly at Avery. "If you don't know why by now, you don't fucking have the right to be a knight—"

"Why, you pig—"

"Oh, very original, your insults are as lazy as that fat ass you sit on, Mul," he drawled. "I must say, the beating they—"

But he didn't get a chance to finish his sentence.

Two stinging hexes flew out of Tom's wand and hit Malfoy and Mulciber on their chins.

" _Ow, Tom_!" Abraxas yelped. "You could've warned me."

"Yes, but this is much more effective, isn't it? Mulciber?"

Abraxas watched as Mulciber massaged his swollen cheek, resolutely silent now that he knew Tom was annoyed enough to let his wand do the talking.

"Isn't this the part where you tell us why we're here, in this darn forest with all those crickets and snakes and bats—"

Tom held up a hand and Abraxas clamped his mouth shut.

One look at his face told him that the time for jokes was over.

"All of you remember that you're sworn to me, don't you?"

A shiver ran down Malfoy's spine at his words.

He was calling up their oath of allegiance and faith?

 _But why?_

This could not bode well.

" _Yes, everyone_?"

No one said anything but they all nodded.

"Good. Now, we came here on an expedition to—find a man that I was interested in, yes? And you expected to gain more experience, more knowledge—and power."

Abraxas swallowed.

 _Why the introduction?_

Usually, when Tom wanted them to do something, he would simply order them about.

He looked at Lestrange, who had gone equally pale by now, and Abraxas realised that he, too, was apprehensive.

Avery merely looked bored as he surveyed his shoelaces and Mulciber looked—confused.

"I am going to introduce you, my dear friends, to glory," Tom whispered softly, his voice slithering like snakes in their midst and Abraxas felt it coil around his throat. "I will help you witness the fall of an empire, the death of a dictator and the rise of true power—yes, you will be instrumental in it all, my dear friends, and you will share the glory."

 _Glory?_

 _Dread. Dread. Dread._

 _Glory?_

"What do you mean?"

 _Mulciber._

 _Mulciber_.

Tom simply chuckled, his silver eyes growing colder around the edges.

 _What the fuck did he mean?_

Abraxas could hear that insane voice in him telling him to run, like it did every time Tom was close, and he had never paid heed to it but this once, just this once he would have liked to obey.

Except—except there was no way to run.

And no place to hide.

Nothing remained-only trees and that insane, whining voice in his mind and the cover of trees over his head, stretching like sea all around him and there was Tom—seated in their midst, his white marble face expressionless and he looked like some haunted Teutonic prince, returned from dead to reclaim his throne—the Dark Mark on his wrist tingled in delight and Abraxas knew that there would be no running from whatever Tom fancied, a conquest or surrender, it mattered not, and they would have to follow him to death.

But he wouldn't die, would he?

 _Glory_?

"Um, Tom?" Abraxas tried to keep his voice from shaking _. What was wrong with those damn fingers of his?_ "What exactly do you mean when you say we'll participate in the fall of a dictator?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Malfoy saw that Avery had gone still.

Deathly still.

Tom clicked his tongue, as if something irritated him in his mouth.

 _Glory_?

"But of course, Malfoy, you may ask any question you desire," he said, his eyes glinting like a leopard in the dark. "We, my dear friends, are going to kill Grindelwald."

Oh.

Oh.

Well.

Oh.

Fuck.

* * *

Hey guys, did you like this chapter? I was really scared of posting it. Please review and tell me. I am enjoying writing this fic a lot and I hope you like it.

Thanks to all those who reviewed the previous chapter... I am so touched and grateful. Christine Rose, oslca35, angel908, Infernalbooks , Guest, Bunny129834765, XxAngry-Evil-PoptartsxX brighteyes2889 Lily and Mary.

So here we are, with the next one, and be warned-this stuff is about to get darker and more twisted. I hope you're enjoying it. Until next time then,

Read and Review please.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

* * *

Jonathan Avery was an unusual boy.

He was quiet, observant, and pragmatic—and nothing, not even the worst of scenarios rattled him. And it was this quality of nonchalance that had made Tom notice him.

It had been right after Tom had accidentally killed the _mud blood_ in the second floor bathroom. Avery had been passing by and a piercing shriek had grabbed his attention.

He had run inside, only to find Tom alone with a dead body in tow and for the first time, Avery had seen him sweating. He had been anxious back then. Their association had been quite casual until then, confined to a few greetings and nods of deference from his side—Tom had already had a bad reputation in the Slytherin circles and Avery had no desire to cross him for questions of mere ego.

Immediately upon witnessing the scene that day, Avery had offered unsolicited help and advice—both of which Tom had taken gladly and they had fled the scene after erasing every piece of evidence. Later, Avery had made sure that any portraits that witnessed them were disposed of quickly, before the Ministry investigators arrived.

And ever since then, he had become a part of Tom's group.

He had seen Tom at his worst and his best but never before had he doubted the boy's sanity.

Nothing had ever rattled him about Tom.

Before this.

Before that night.

"You're joking, right," he said in a level voice.

It was never a good thing to show fear, especially in front of Tom when he was in his maniacal streak.

Malfoy was gaping at Tom with an expression of disbelief and fear. Lestrange had his eyes widened and lips parted, as if he had just seen an apparition and was considering running away very seriously. And Mulciber was, well, still scratching his head.

Tom's silver eyes turned to him. "Why would I do that, Avery, dear friend? Do you think that this is the right time to jest, when we are alone and defenceless, stranded in the middle of nowhere? Surely, you know me better than that."

Avery pressed his lips shut.

This was bad.

" _This is insane_!" Malfoy cried out, thumping the ground. "Look, Tom, we all agree that you are really gifted and powerful and the heir of Slytherin and whatnot, but this is madness. Even to consider such a thing is crazy! It's _Grindelwald_ , for crying out loud! He is one of the darkest wizards of our age—even Dumbledore is afraid to face him and you—you-"

He didn't get the chance to finish his sentence for just then, Tom threw a silencing charm at him. Malfoy flapped his lips like a fish caught out of water and stopped struggling after a while, adequately chastised.

Avery couldn't help but smile a little, despite the dreadful feeling that had settled down in his chest.

"Thank you for your opinion, Abraxas," Tom said. "I have taken note of it and you will shut up now. And as far as your doubts are concerned, I know _exactly_ who and what Grindelwald is. Do you deem me so ignorant as to jump into battle without acquiring adequate knowledge of my enemy and his weaknesses? Let me assure, for once and all, that I have considered all the options, trappings, and failures and only after careful analysis have I bared my intentions to you. I will take off the silencing charm now, but if you speak out of turn once again, I will rip out your tongue. Am I understood?"

Malfoy nodded vehemently.

No one spoke for a long time after this threat.

A long way off, a wolf howled. Coupled with the conspiracy talks, and the general forlornness of the forest, Avery found himself shuddering at every faint noise and shadow.

And despite Tom's warnings, he couldn't hold his tongue. Not this time.

"But Tom," he said carefully. " _Why this sudden change of plans_? Weren't we supposed to head back to Hogwarts after you were done with Gregorovitch? _And what about Hogwarts_? Besides, I hate to agree with Malfoy but this is _Grindelwald_ —he has an army larger than that of seven nations combined... He has knowledge, power, resources—everything at his disposal—how could we, a group of five boys, expect to challenge his might? And to what end?"

Tom said nothing but looked at each of their faces—and a slight red streak flashed in his eyes, a spot of scarlet against the shining silver and apprehension crossed Avery's mind. He was far too familiar with Tom's violent flashes—he had mastered the art of reading his moods, at least when he wasn't trying to hide them, and this little sprinkle of scarlet in his eyes was always bad news.

"I see," Tom said after a while, twirling his wand casually. "Don't cringe like a pathetic girl, Avery—I am not going to attack you for having doubts—it is better if misgivings are acknowledged and resolved at the start, before they become a festering wound in our side and cost us dearly."

Avery drew a long breath of relief.

Whatever his plans may be, at least Tom was thinking clearly.

"This is going to be a long night," Tom mumbled to himself, looking at the sky, and then turned his grey gaze upon everyone. "First things first then—your doubts, queries and whims—I will entertain them only this one time so choose your questions carefully."

A short gust of carried parched leaves to Avery's feet and he almost jump.

 _Gods, what was the matter with him?_

Malfoy raised his hand hesitantly.

"Why do you want to take on the likes of Grindelwald? That was never the plan. It wasn't even—"

Tom put up a hand before Malfoy finished his sentence.

"I have my reasons and they don't concern you, Malfoy, or any of you. In fact, your only concern should be that _you_ , Abraxas, might be the weakest link in this chain of command and that _you_ should try to enhance your skills at both duelling, and defending."

Avery looked at Tom for a long time. There was something going on there—something more sinister and darker than he could think or imagine and it wouldn't end well or them either way.

And Malfoy's question _was_ reasonable.

Why Grindelwald?

They weren't even out of school yet.

"I have another," he said finally, after much thought. "And I think I mentioned it before—I don't think we are capable enough to take on someone in his position and power—I have heard stories, firsthand accounts of what he's capable of and we simply do not have that kind of strength or technique. This will be a suicide mission—brave but suicidal, something that only Gryffindors could countenance. Besides, what is to be gained from it all?"

Tom tilted his head.

"What is to be gained from it all, you ask? Glory, power, wealth? I hope they still mean something to you," he said. "No, I understand your concerns, Avery—and I will answer your question. I have given this much consideration—a dictator's realm in like a house of cards—you take away a single card at the base that supports the entire structure and the house falls down, scattered and ... Grindelwald's empire is something in the same vein—we don't take on the might of his empire—rather, we shall target the man at the head. Once he is dealt with, everything else should be smooth sailing."

Oh my God.

He really believed it. Avery could see it in Tom's eyes. He really believed it all.

"What about school? N.E.W.T.s? Dumbledore? And isn't this all too soon? Didn't you once say that it would take years for us to master the Dark Arts, and that nothing else could be planned before then?"

He put up another flimsy argument, even when he was quite convinced that Tom could no longer be swayed from his path anymore than the earth could stop revolving around the sun.

They couldn't do what Tom proposed. It would be suicide.

"I did. I recall my own words perfectly, Jonathan," Tom yawned lightly and grinned like a Cheshire cat in the darkness. "But I had not foreseen the culmination of certain events that would lead us here—it is too bright an opportunity to be foregone, and think, just _consider_ what it would mean for everyone? We will have an empire to our name, all the coffers of Grindelwald will be thrown open at our feet—is there a greater reward? And yes, I have gained access to knowledge that will make all of this possible, every bit of it—and I ask only for your support. Besides, what does it matter if we fail or pass N.E. ? What are they, in front of the rich opulence of a ravaged empire at our feet?"

"They'll come looking for us—Dumbledore will make enquiries and he's a nuisance," Abraxas said in a small voice.

"I have considered that too, Abraxas. Rest assured that before midnight tomorrow, he will have no cause or sanction for an official enquiry. Lestrange will see to that, won't you?" Tom's eyes flicked towards the boy. "You have been rather quiet here—is there something you'd like to add?"

Lestrange bit his lip. Avery had never liked him much—he was slippery and cunning but Tom had always insisted that he had his uses… But tonight, even Lestrange was out of his element. He was pale and the wide-eyed look he threw at Tom was quite in consensus with how Avery felt inside.

Trapped and afraid.

"Just one—where do we stay whilst you plan and strategise?" Lestrange managed to croak out—his voice rather high pitched. "Not the forest, surely? And how long would you like for us all to be exempted from attending school? I will need a means to contact—my source that can arrange this for us."

"Four months should be enough—say till the end of January?" Tom furrowed his brows and sighed. "And as far as staying is concerned, Leann's father has property close to Spreewald, doesn't he?"

He looked at Lestrange for confirmation who nodded his head slowly.

Avery sympathised with him today.

"It is secret kept, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Perfect." Tom smiled and clapped his hands together. "Arrange for the secret-keeper to meet us, each one of us, close to a landmark in Spreewald. You can send the messages when we arrive at our next stop. This concludes our night, my faithful friends and we should rest while we can."

* * *

She was shaken awake by the sounds of someone whispering.

"Hermione, are you awake?"

It was Tom.

She opened her eyes and found the world around her black.

She shivered in the thinly spread moonlight, barely grazing the ground under the thick canopied trees.

"Well, you did just wake me up. What—happened?"

"I just figured out something—your back still hurts, right?"

She twisted her shoulder blades and hissed.

"Yes. Why?"

He pushed something into her palm, something cold and—smooth.

She was surprised when she recognised the objects.

"I thought I had lost them forever when—" She felt the Arithmancy cubes in her hand. "How did you—"

She could barely see him.

He was this blurry, dark shadow against the grey sky.

She wondered what time it was.

"They fell close to you on the ground, back in the village—I would have missed them otherwise and that would have been a sore loss."

Indeed.

She closed her eyes once more, keenly aware of the Goosebumps rising up her skin—her heart beat faster than before and he was close, so close and she could hear him breathe—it was all so strange.

"I hope you didn't wake me up at midnight to say just this-"

She felt him smirk.

She rolled her eyes at him in the dark.

"No." His voice was soft—it had this dark, rich, velvety texture which people associate with luxury and wealth and she was surprised that she had never noticed it before. "I told you that I figured out something, didn't I? Well, here's the thing—I want you to hold them close to your body when you sleep—I think that they might able to heal you better than any doctor."

"That's ridiculous, Tom," she snapped. In the dark, it felt like she was talking to herself—or a personal demon—and either way wasn't good. "I have to see a doctor as soon as possible."

"Just—trust me on this, please," he coaxed. "And anyway, you only have to wait till morning. If it doesn't work, I will gladly take you to the nearest village and we'll see what can be done, yes?"

She didn't see any harm in that. "Sure. And now, I really need to sleep—so go away."

He chuckled lightly and it sounded like a million pieces of ice falling down on bare glass.

Again, he pressed her wrist and the small tingle of warmth made her shiver.

"Alright. Take care."

* * *

She woke up with a start.

The tree overhead was whistling softly and fresh sunlight was beginning to creep through the gaps in leaves. She looked around and found that their small camp was awake. Tom sat close to a boulder and was deep in discussion with Abraxas who looked rather—jittery. Avery lay on his blanket, looking up at the sky and a deep frown marred his brow.

She wondered what he was thinking.

Quite suddenly, something flew out of the tree overhead and landed on her stomach. She jumped up in surprise, and the commotion drew the attention of everyone.

" _Eeeee….!"_ She yelped and took a few steps sideways.

"It's just a squirrel, Hermione. Relax, alright," Avery said without even turning his head and she frowned.

Oh.

And immediately, her eyes went to the scattered cubes that she had held onto last night whilst she slept.

She was breathing regularly. And there was no pain in her back.

How was this possible?

She touched her shoulder absently and her eyes went to Tom.

He was staring at her, a small smile playing on his lips while he listened to Malfoy. He raised an eyebrow in question—as if to ask if she was okay—and she nodded, feeling quite dazed.

"You seem better than yesterday," Avery commented and sat up. "Feeling alright?"

"Yes, quite. Thank you," she said and tied her hair behind her in a ponytail. "Where's everyone else?"

"Lestrange and Mulciber? They went to fetch water from a nearby stream."

"Oh."

She looked around and as far as she could see, the forest was the definition of sameness.

Everywhere she looked, there were trees, birds and stones.

And Tom was still speaking with Abraxas.

"Are you hungry?" Avery asked, fumbling with his backpack. "I have got only the things that we found onboard—dried dates, salted meats, pickles and stuff. And some bread too."

"No, thanks, that's alright—" Her eyes went to Tom again. "Aren't we moving soon?"

Avery shrugged and glanced at Tom and Abraxas. "I don't think we are, not today. We're all a little tired and weary and this spot is as good as any to rest, I suppose. Besides, our next stop lies north—a small village that we mustn't visit unless we're up to our full strength, what with hostile territories and populations all around us."

That made sense.

Okay.

She bit her lip.

How was it possible for her back to have healed completely? It wasn't natural. It wasn't.

"You look perplexed," the boys said after watching her for a while and Hermione was surprised at the perceptiveness of his observations.

"It's nothing," she said, running a hand through the tangle mess of her hair. "I think I'll go freshen up—somewhere."

And she left with those words, quite aware of the fact that a pair of eyes watched her back.

* * *

The day passed casually with everyone simply content to lie around and do nothing. The weather was pleasant enough and Hermione was grateful that they hadn't moved for the day. They ate salted meat and bread for lunch, followed by an enthusiastic siesta where she was kept awake by the loud noises of Mulciber snoring.

Tom had stayed away from them mostly, satisfied with his musings, and even when Hermione had joined him in the act, he had kept silent.

Evening came along quickly and before she knew it, dinner was done and Lestrange and Malfoy had managed to create a lovely bonfire around which they all sat lazily, enjoying the night and its many cadences as if they weren't out in the middle of nowhere in a foreign country and were simply camping in the woods.

She certainly thought of it as such, even if it was only for a day, and found herself happier for the thought.

The boys were quarrelling over some Quidditch team, getting rather passionate every now and then, while Tom watched them from distance, sitting relaxed against a large tree.

"Alright, Alright—I get it, Avery—You like the Chudley Cannons. Just don't murder me for having a different favourite," Malfoy said loudly and raised his hands. Avery, who had been about to box his ears for some cause that Hermione thought might be justified, dropped to the ground and wiped some sweat off his brow.

"I have an idea—why don't we _not_ discuss this anymore and I'll let you live," he shot at Malfoy who had ducked away by then. Abraxas gave him thumbs up. "Besides, all this arguing has given me a headache. Can we discuss something more pleasant?"

"Quidditch _is_ pleasant. It isn't Abraxas's fault that you cannot digest difference in opinion,"" Lestrange said, playing with a few stones on the ground.

Avery crossed his arms and Hermione turned to Tom. "What's your favourite team?"

Someone sniggered close to her.

"Tom doesn't like Quidditch," Abraxas said, sliding down further on the ground. "It is probably one of the only few things that he isn't good at."

Tom merely shrugged.

"Oh yes, I remember. Quick, ask him about the most humiliating memory in his life," said Avery.

Hermione turned to Tom with raised eyebrows. He, in turn, glared at Avery.

"Leave me out of your inane discussions," he snapped.

Malfoy chuckled once again. "Aww, why so shy, Tom? All of us are friends here—"

"—and even if he won't tell you, I think I can. I remember the story as if it was yesterday. It was our first year, you see, and we were all lined up for Quidditch lessons. Now we were suppose to summon the broomsticks into our palms right—standard learning procedure. Tom tried it a few times and failed. His broomstick simply jumped away from him. Which made him try harder and the broomstick jumped farther. So in the end, he got so annoyed that he cursed it."

Avery gave a short laugh at this.

" _He what? He cursed a broomstick_?" Hermione looked at him in amusement. His face was turned into a deep scowl as he glared at the bonfire. "How does that even work?"

"Oh it was nothing serious or anything," said Avery. "He simply set the broomstick on fire and everyone kind of jumped out of his way. Mr. Simmons, the teacher, was quite mad as he handed Tom a detention—his first and last, I believe. And so, from that day onwards, Tom never laid a hand on any broomstick if he could help it. He even failed at flying lessons but the rest of his grades made up for it."

Everyone chuckled at the memory except Tom. He glared at Malfoy.

"Well, if you're quite done laughing at my expense, I would like to sit back and relax in silence."

He sounded positively miffed, what with a hint of red tingeing his cheeks and Hermione found it quite endearing.

"I have an idea," Lestrange said after a long while. "It's a lovely night and we have our bonfire—why don't you play your mouth organ, Tom. It's been a long time since we listened to one of your melodies."

"You know how to play a mouth organ?" Hermione asked him in surprise.

He nodded casually and went to retrieve his musical instrument that she hadn't known he carried with him everywhere. Of course, everyone began chattering amongst themselves as soon as he left and she followed him to where their back packs and supplies lay.

The camp fire was bright and loud—Hermione feared that someone would catch sight of it and they would come back. Those men with black coats and embedded Deathly Hallows symbols...

She pushed away the memory. They were having such a pleasant time. She couldn't ruin it with—no.

"Don't you think this is too—noticeable?" she voiced her fears to Tom who sat close to her, rubbing a rough piece of cloth on his mouth organ. "I mean—we are fleeing from pursuit, aren't we? And incidentally, when are we going back? Where is the portkey located?"

He didn't even turn his head. He simply blew away some dust off the red painted metal and settled down comfortably in the crook of the tree.

"We've cast powerful obfuscating charms around this grove," he said to her. "Don't worry—we're quite safe here. And an active alarm will let us know about any one approaching from miles off. Alright everyone, be quiet now!"

The last sentence was loud and addressed to his fellow schoolmates. Everyone shut up and turned to him.

When he was satisfied that he had all the attention he wanted, he began to play.

It was such a sweet melody, carried along with the soft wind and intertwined around her and everyone, and Hermione held her breath while she listened.

She could only look at his face while he played it. It shone like something hallowed and pure—utterly in contrast with his life and actions and she had to avert her eyes away from his face at the end of two minute's straight staring.

Was it possible to get intoxicated on someone else's beauty?

And still he played.

His music was melancholy and sweet—it reminded her of endless nights of waiting and a foundering love, the storming of castles and marches of victory, tenderness of silences and utterances of promise—it was both a celebration and a lament and she sat hypnotised.

"Would you like to dance?"

Abraxas had materialised out of nowhere.

For the briefest moment, she sneaked a look at Tom's closed eyes as he sat lost, enjoying his own creation.

"Sure, but only as long as you don't step on my feet."

Malfoy chuckled at her remark and led her quite close to the bonfire. The spilling warmth made her shoulders sag in comfort and she closed her eyes as she put her hand in his.

They went around the fire in circles, laughing merrily, their woes forgotten in the night—like they had been burned to ashes by the lovely, exhilarating fire—she tripped once but Malfoy caught her by the waist and she almost blushed. Despite his injured arm, he was managing quite well.

"You are quite terrible at this," he commented, clicking his tongue.

"Well, no more than you."

"Me? I have been trained by the finest teachers in the art of ballroom dancing—you know, so it is quite understandable that I am not very good at his campfire dancing."

She chuckled.

"Oh, please. You do not have a single flexible bone in your body."

They were facing each other now. The other boys lay on their backs, listening to Tom play and were quite uninterested in anything else.

"Oh, and you do?" He was quite close to her this time, closer than she was comfortable, and she took a step back.

Abraxas raised his eyebrow at that. "Squeamish that you might be proved wrong?"

"Hell, no," she retorted, crossing her arms. "In fact, let's prove _you_ wrong."

And with that, she took hold of his hand while he jerked hers at the same time—a moment later, they both collided against each other and Hermione was quite aware of the fact that there was no distance between them.

In fact, and largely due to their mutual astonishment, they both stood rooted to the spot—hands holding hands and one of his arms encircling her waist while she was keenly observant of the fact that his chest was pressed against his.

She blinked.

And just then, the music stopped. It took a few seconds for her to register that Tom had stopped playing.

Immediately, she shook her head and jerked away from him, looking at Tom in confusion.

He had discarded the mouth organ on the ground and even though his face was unreadable, she sensed a small streak of scarlet flash in his eyes.

"It's time to turn in," he said quietly, his eyes lingering on her face for a little longer than necessary. "We have to be up at the crack of dawn and I would rather not deal with tardiness again."

* * *

Afterwards, when she lay down on the small blanket that was to be her bed, by Tom's side, she stared at the night sky and its stars for a long, long time.

"What are you looking at?"

"Constellations," she whispered. Everyone else slept some way off and only Tom was close to her—in fact, they shared a tree. "Aren't they lovely? The Orion and Cassiopeia—so bright and wonderfully constant—"

He made a non-committal sound and she turned her head towards him. From this distance, she could touch his nose. His face was half hidden in shadows, where it lay close to the ground, and the other half glowed in the dying embers of the bonfire.

"I didn't know you could play the mouth organ so well."

"There are many things you don't know about me."

"Yes."

They stayed quiet for a while but Hermione knew that he wasn't asleep.

She had noticed something in his eyes—right after he had stopped playing and she had stepped away from Malfoy—something dark and red—it was a fierce something that she couldn't name and she shuddered at the memory.

But then again, judging by the serene look on his pale face right now, she could have imagined it.

Darkness played tricks with one's mind. Maybe she had been another victim.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"I appreciate that you're trying to socialise with my friends—but don't forget what I told you before."

"What do you mean?"

"Malfoy—he's like this, okay—he's had too much privilege and too little challenge and everywhere he goes, everything is another fancy to him, something to while away time. Especially _girls_."

Her heartbeat stopped.

"What do you mean?"

Out of nowhere, she found his long fingers interlacing themselves with hers.

"You know exactly what I mean."

She took a deep breath.

Maybe she was wrong.

Maybe he was just concerned as a friend.

Maybe.

* * *

Abraxas was perched on a rocky outcrop while he watched the others break camp. He had been packed and ready to leave as soon as he woke up but others had been less—quick.

He watched as Tom sat with Hermione, eating dried berries as he talked with her.

" _I will need your assistance, Abraxas," Tom had said the previous day. "Out of everyone present here, you know that you're the only one I can trust completely. Especially on a dangerous mission such as this."_

" _We don't have to do this right now, Tom," he had implored quietly. "Let's just go back as planned. You got what you came for and I and the boys have had enough adventure to last us a long time. It could all turn disastrous for us and I—"_

" _It won't," Tom had insisted. "Have faith, Abraxas—I am a lot of things but never a fool."_

Abraxas watched the two of them laugh at something.

 _How did she fit into this new mission that Tom had seen fit to undertake_?

" _I want you to watch Lestrange for me, Abraxas—closely, if you must," Tom had said._

" _Why? Is there a problem? Do you suspect something?"_

 _Tom's eyes had turned sharp at his words._

" _I suspect a lot of things, yes, but nothing that I can be sure of. Just take my advice and watch him, alright."_

There was something wrong there.

Tom and the girl—they didn't have what you'd call a normal, healthy friendship, assuming it was possible for girls and boys to be just friends.

And Abraxas had caught a glimpse of it the previous night. He had seen it in Tom's eyes—that violent red streak of rage and control, a sort of hidden madness, in Tom's eyes when he had danced with Hermione.

He wondered at the speed at which his life had taken a downturn and he was frightened to the core. And even though he had no option but to follow Tom's commands, he couldn't drown his fears and apprehensions.

" _What about Hermione? Won't she be in the way, if you plan to really do this?" Abraxas had mentioned. "She's just a girl."_

" _She's my problem, not yours," Tom had snapped. "You deal with the task that is given to you and think about nothing else."_

And she had healed.

She had healed spectacularly. Judging from her fluid movements, it didn't seem like there was a single broken bone in her body.

It simply wasn't possible.

Perhaps Tom had helped her.

But he didn't have that skill.

He didn't.

And Abraxas was quite annoyed at having to lug around his broken arm while she was perfectly well. It just wasn't fair.

" _We're really going to do this, then?" His voice had shaken, despite his best efforts._

" _Yes, we are. And at the end of all this, you will thank me, Abraxas."_

" _I doubt it."_

 _Tom had smiled patronisingly, patting him on the back._

" _Have faith, Abraxas—it will work out just fine."_

Faith.

They were ready to move.

He couldn't help but notice that Tom walked closer to Hermione than anyone else.

He jumped off the rocky perch and shouldered his bag.

 _Have faith, he says. Faith will get me killed. Just you wait and watch._

* * *

please review... I didnt feel too confident about this chapter..


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

* * *

They had been walking all night, Tom wouldn't let them stop. They walked through sparse woods, deep meadows and bubbling rivers and still Tom wouldn't halt. In the evening, they stopped on the outskirts of a small village where they were greeted by a thin, wiry man in a long overcoat. According to Tom, he was the secret-keeper to some mansion towards which they were headed..

She hadn't asked many questions of him. She didn't even know what a secret-keeper was but she had kept her mouth shut. Tom had seemed distant and moody. The others even more so. So she had kept quiet and observed.

There was something wrong with them—everyone seemed to be twitchy, watching their backs as if they expected to be stabbed any moment. Malfoy had this weird distant look on his face every time she spoke to him and Avery was more quiet that usual. Mulciber receded into shadows with Lestrange and God only knew what they talked about. And Tom stayed away from the group, brooding, and he snarled at any one who disturbed him.

And then there was the matter of Arithmancy cubes. She felt a strange pull towards them, each day, a sort of stinging, burning sensation in her mind that compelled her to touch them, ensure that they were—safe. She would check her backpack for them every hour, run her fingers over the smooth surface, and a soft peace would flow through her skin on contact. There was something wrong with her—this couldn't be natural and she knew it.

All this worried her.

She knew that she would have to ask him soon. Only he could answer her.

On the fourth night, they had set camp near a small brook. According to Lestrange, they were only a day's walk away from their destination. They had eaten in silence and retired to their camp beds by the fire and she had fallen asleep very soon.

At midnight, she woke up suddenly, and found the sleeping bag next to her empty. Tom wasn't there.

She made no sound as she got up and look around.

 _Where was he?_

There was a protective circle of spells around them—Tom drew it each night—and she felt a small stab of wind when she stepped out of the circle's boundary.

" _Tom?"_ she called out but there was no answer. The night air was cold and she hugged herself. Dry leaves creaked under her shoes and the invisible stream made frightening sounds. " _Tom?_ "

She looked around and saw nothing. She walked a little way towards the river, hoping that he had ventured in that direction. The river gurgled like a small infant, splashing around its watery body on the land.

And that was when she heard faint sounds of music. It was a mouth organ and she looked around in surprise. That was Tom's doing, surely. She made up her mind and headed in the direction of the music, as quickly as her shivering feet would carry her.

She moved uphill on the ground and found herself labouring for breath. A short way away, where the ground turned rocky and the tree cover gave way to open sky, she espied a solitary figure standing on the edge of a cliff.

"Tom?" she said when she reached him.

 _What was he doing here_?

He didn't turn towards her but kept playing the instrument, a melodious tune that was both melancholy and tender, and she shuddered. His dark figure contrasted against the moonlit night—he stood dangerously close to the edge and she was afraid that he might fall.

"What are you doing, Tom? This is dangerous—please get down from there," she said and found her voice oddly jarring, especially against the lovely background of his music. "Tom?"

And just when she thought he couldn't hear her, he stopped playing.

"You're here," he whispered quietly, his back oddly exposed to her. He seemed to be staring down at the valley. "I wondered if you might come."

She took a step towards him. "What do you mean?"

He turned his head slightly so that she caught sight of the left side of his face, glinting pale in the moonlight, almost like a phantom. _"Join me_?"

He held out a hand towards her.

She bit her lip. "You should get down from there, Tom—it's dangerous—you might fall."

And still he held out his hand.

"I conquered my fear of heights a long time ago, Hermione—I had to, especially when I learned that I couldn't use a broom to fly."

She didn't understand what he meant.

"Tom—just get down from there, okay. Let's go back to the camp. It's really late and we should be sleeping."

"Soon." He waved her over once more. "Come on—just come here."

She closed her eyes and stepped towards him, all this while very aware of the fact that she was at a great height from the ground. She hated heights.

He caught her hand as soon as she reached him and pulled her towards the edge—she swayed and almost screamed from fright but he held her hand and wrapped an arm around her shoulders so that her back was facing his front and he held her steady.

She could hear him breathe and she closed her eyes for a second.

Terror struck her when she opened them again—the steep valley below was shrouded in darkness—she couldn't see the bottom and her legs shook in fear and anticipation.

"I—want to go back, Tom," she said as she tightened her grip on his arm.

She could hear his hear beat.

He was so close.

And they stood on the edge—a little loss of balance and they would fall to their deaths.

"We'll go," he said softly, whispering in her ear. "But not just yet."

 _Okay._

Okay.

"Why are we here?"

Up there, everything echoed and sounds magnified.

"I was thinking."

" _And that's something you couldn't do in your bed?"_

He chuckled against her hair, a wispy sound carried away lightly by the wind.

"I am going to conquer paradise, Hermione—and for that, one has to stand dangerously close to death—look it in the eye and laugh in mockery… and that isn't something you could do in the safety of your bed, could you?"

He used the strangest metaphors sometimes. She turned to him and shook her head.

"Let's just go, please—before the others wake up and panic because we're missing." She pushed him towards safer land but he caught her hand just in time and spun her once more so that she landed against his chest once more with a distinct _'oomph.'_

" _Tom!"_

"What? Are you afraid of me or are you afraid of—heights?"

"This is not funny." She tried to elbow him in the ribs but he leaned to the side and she missed.

"It isn't meant to be," he replied, laughing once more. "Stop struggling, okay, or you will drag us both down to a painful and untimely death."

She stopped at his words.

She could feel his chest rise and fall against her back.

The world was so quiet.

"Now listen," he murmured in her ear, softly relaxing his grip around her shoulders, and she did as he directed. "Can you listen to the music of the earth? The wind and the endless shores? How about the sky—listen to his rumble as the earth beneath us shakes in trepidation."

"I—"

"You asked me why I came here—this is the answer. Look down at the dark abyss that is ready to engulf us should we slip and fall," he said and a shudder ran through her. As if sensing the same, he pressed her hand in reassurance. "Any moment might be our last—"

"We should step back then, shouldn't we?"

He clicked his tongue.

"Are you afraid of dying, Hermione?"

The question rattled her.

"It isn't dying that I am afraid of, no. Rather, I fear the pain that might accompany my death if we were to tumble down a cliff, Tom."

"So if there were no pain—you would be unafraid to die?"

He stroked her arm lightly and she tilted her head to get a view of him standing close behind her.

"Perhaps, perhaps. But that doesn't matter now, does it? We are going to step back and leave safely. Come on, Tom—this is really dangerous." She tugged at his arm, afraid to pull harder for he might lose his balance and…

He didn't respond to her gentle tugging.

Instead, he edged forward and turned towards her so that his body stood between her and the precipice.

"And now? Are you still afraid?"

"Tom."

"Yes?"

"What's bothering you?"

His grey eyes registered surprise.

"Why would you think something's bothering me?"

"Well, isn't it?"

As usual, he hid his emotions behind a surface wall of indifference and carelessness.

But a moment later, he reached out his hand and touched her cheek.

Her lips parted slightly and her eyes fluttered to a close.

"I'm here because I was afraid—more afraid than I have been in my entire life," he murmured. "And I had to see which one it was that frightened me more—death or the conquest of paradise."'

"Conquest of paradise, Tom? Surely, you don't believe in God. And why are you afraid?"

He breathed deeply and drew closer, this time reaching for her waist, and he laid his chin on her left shoulder.

"I'll tell you but now is not the right time or place. In fact, I am afraid that you might be tempted to throw me off this cliff if you heard it."

Suspicion crossed her mind.

" _What do you mean?"_

He tucked his thumb under her chin and propped it up. "Didn't I say I wasn't going to tell you just yet?"

She raised her eyebrow. "And what's to stop me from pushing you over the edge anyway—I might be just that much irked with you. Besides, you've been a nuisance."

"Really?"

She didn't buy the look of disbelief in his face. It was humorous and playful and she felt drawn to the slight melancholy that still tinged his eyes.

"Hermione."

Her eyes widened for he was so close to her, so very close and… this was different…

"I've seen death… I know what it stands for, I've looked beyond and I refuse to let that be my fate," he said quietly and stroked her cheek. "And now that I've looked at you, today—I am less frightened of everything else in the world. Except—"

"—except perhaps you."

She didn't understand a single thing he was saying.

But she didn't get the chance to ask him for just then, he moved closer and kissed her.

His lips were soft and feathery, like something the clouds are made of, and there was so much tenderness and joy—he nibbled on her lower lip for a second before she found herself responding to his gentle draw. It was a tender kiss, light and meaningless, and yet it promised so much more. He ran his hands through her curls all this while and she held on to the front of his shirt, her eyes fluttering to a close when he drew her further in, a gentle embrace on a moonlit night, and she didn't want him to stop.

He sighed against her lips, his nose bumping against hers, and his grey eyes met her brown ones. They were dark today, a sort of molten darkness that's ever flowing, and never a threat.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, still holding her close. "I should have asked—sorry."

She was surprised at him.

They were still holding hands.

"That's okay, I think." She grinned at him, shaking her head. "I liked it."

He mimicked her grin with a goofy smile of his own.

"Come on, we should go now," she tugged at his hands and this time, he relented to being pulled away.

* * *

He stared at her face.

Her chest rose and fell as she breathed. The moonlight cast pale shadows on her face. It was strange that he still held her hand—there was no need to, since she had already fallen asleep and didn't need the comfort.

 _What had he done?_

It had been a mistake.

A big mistake.

His emotions had—clouded his judgement and he had… kissed her.

The truth was… she terrified him..

He did not like being afraid.

He didn't deal very well with fear.

And right now, fear was all he felt.

He was afraid of her—his confused feelings wherever she was concerned. He was afraid of failing—he had decided to undertake a task that was much larger than his capabilities and resources and he simply didn't know if he could make it. It was going to be tough—and it would take every ounce of cunning and ruthlessness he possessed to bring his plans to fruition.

He was very afraid of his own ambitions, the dark vengeance that twisted in his mind and never let him rest.

And he was afraid that he had bitten off more than he could chew. Be that as it may, however, he would carry the plan through. He wasn't afraid of dying though, mainly because he had bound his soul to earth as an insurance—even if his body perished, his soul would live and he'd find a way to come back.

Others were a different story though. There was a very high chance that they might perish.

Except… perhaps her. She mustn't… He couldn't…

It unsettled him.

Of course, he wouldn't be able to return to Hogwarts if he succeeded.

And what a success it would be.

But in any case, he didn't plan to return even if he failed.

His fingers wrapped tightly around hers at the thought.

He had to control his fear.

* * *

She felt the ghost of a touch slither across her back and she turned her head.

No one. Just wind.

She took a deep breath and tried to see beyond the thicket of trees.

Her shoulders ached from the long walk, her hair was haywire, falling in thick clumps all over her face and her skin reeked body odour.

"This is it, right?"

She adjusted the backpack on her shoulders, groaning lightly, and turned towards Malfoy.

He raised an eyebrow at her and shrugged. "It should be. We can't really see the manor until we read the location off that piece of paper that Tom carries around with himself. If he had a chance, he'd probably get it laminated."

She almost chuckled at the joke and glanced over her shoulder. Tom was walking a little way off the path, deep in discussion with Lestrange. Avery and Mulciber were even farther behind, walking with hunched backs, their clothes sweaty and reeking of soil.

"So what's the deal with this place?" She threw her backpack on the ground and lit a cigarette, gesturing at Malfoy to take one but he declined. "Why are we here? Tom wasn't exactly forthcoming about his motives and the rest of the boys treat me like I'm invisible. Tell me Malfoy, what brings us here?"

Malfoy stared at the burning object in between her fingers and his eyes travelled to her face. His eyes were like Tom's—grey and distant—and yet, there was something almost warm about them.

"I would but I'm not at the liberty to speak of it," he commented. "Are you sure you should be smoking?"

She tilted her head towards him. "Does it bother you?"

He stared at her face for a long time before shrugging.

"Alright, everyone, gather around," Tom called from behind them and Hermione and Abraxas turned to see him waving them over. Hermione made to reach for her backpack but Abraxas grabbed it first and slung it over his left shoulder.

"You relax for a bit—you'll need your strength for the shock you're going to get very soon," he remarked and took off towards the group of boys.

She stared at his retreating back for a few seconds before going over to join the others.

* * *

Tom stared hard at the large building that had materialised before them. It was enormous in size, an ancient structure held intact by large amounts of magic woven into its stones and beams. He could feel the pulsating enchantments wash over his skin—he blinked in fascination and surprise for very few places apart from Hogwarts held such deep, ingrained amounts of magic in them.

"This place is huge," someone commented from his side and he looked over to see that it was Hermione. "And beautiful."

"It's bigger than our manor back home," Malfoy commented, and to Tom's amusement, he sounded miffed.

Tom walked over to the huge gates at the front and knocked. Without a warning, the gates turned inwards and they were confronted with a long pathway leading up to the manor.

"Do people live here or are we on our own? By the way, nice place, Lestrange," Avery commented.

Tom observed the many gardens and the old, rotting structures amidst them. He doubted very much that anyone had lived there in the last fifty years.

"Don't thank me, Avery—I don't own this place." Lestrange lit a cigarette as they walked, "It was a very special favour for a special someone. Right, Tom?"

Tom gave him a cursory glance. "Indeed."

"So no one lives here, I take it?"

"No." Lestrange said. "But uncle said he would arrange for someone to look after our needs while we're here. They must have arrived by now."

Meanwhile, a commotion had erupted behind him.

"Give me back my bag, Malfoy!" Hermione was attempting to reach for her backpack that Abraxas held up high above his head. She was short and barely managed to scrape his wrists. "Now!"

Abraxas danced out of her reach, taunting her. "Well, I was going to return it—but if you want to brawl about it like some crude Muggle, I would be very happy to deprive you of it."

She fumed. Tom watched with a tick going off in his jaw.

She stepped back with her fists clenched.

Everyone was looking at them in surprise.

"Give it back."

"Make me."

Tom inched closer to Lestrange and held out his two forefingers for the cigarette he was smoking.

 _Not so soon._

He could see sweat beads beginning to form on her forehead.

 _So soon._

"What's your problem?" Hermione pushed Abraxas. He stumbled over a small clump of bush and stepped back.

Tom was watching her quietly.

"What's _your_ problem?" Abraxas retorted angrily.

Hermione pushed him again, harder this time, and snatched away her bag, her brown eyes burning furiously. "Don't you ever do that again!"

Abraxas move towards her in anger but Tom stepped forward, cutting his path. "That's enough, Abraxas. You will apologise to her now and all will be well, yes?"

"Apologise? Apologise! _For what?!"_

Tom glanced at her.

Within a few moments, her inexplicable anger seemed to have cooled down and she looked confused. She could not be allowed to question her recent outburst.

 _It was too soon_.

Just then, the large door at the front opened and a wiry old man dressed in a black robe stood in its frame.

 _Time to go in_.

The other three boys had lost interest in the quarrel by now and had already moved. Before Abraxas turned away, Tom grabbed his arm.

"You will maintain politeness, Abraxas," he murmured out of the corner of his mouth. "And you will apologise to her before you go in—no matter how much you resent it."

Abraxas's face turned red and he shoved past her, muttering a brief ' _sorry'_ and escaping indoors before she could reply.

* * *

The manor was huge. Simply too large for a group of six people and—Thompson. That was the name of the older man who had welcomed them indoors. He was apparently the caretaker of the manor but he rarely stayed there for no one had visited the property in ten years. There had once been a platoon of house-elves and servants but they had all either left to serve the other members of the family or been discharged from service.

The interior of the manor was dark and dim. Thompson had shown them all to their rooms—most of which lay on the second floor—and he had left to prepare dinner for his guests. Hermione's room was on the third floor and she had fallen in love with it at first sight. It was beautifully decorated—in soft lavender hues—and it had a large bed in the middle. It had five bookcases lining the wall and she thought it must have belonged to someone who read a lot. Like her.

She threw herself on the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was painted silver and white, with a chandelier in the middle.

 _What had happened to her downstairs?_

 _Why had she lashed out so strongly against Malfoy? And at what? Some playfulness?_

 _And_ —

Her eyes went to her small backpack. She fished out the Arithmancy cubes and turned them over in her palm. Immediately, cold calm trickled through her veins.

 _And why were they all here?_

 _What was going on_?

Tom would have to tell her tonight—they were in no imminent danger and she deserved explanation.

She caressed the cubes softly, turning them over and over again in her hand until the soft pillow beneath her head reminded her of how tired she was and how welcome sleep would be in that beautiful bed.

* * *

"Is it just me or does anyone else think we're going to die a very painful death very soon?" Malfoy remarked sarcastically, sitting in front of the crackling fire in the recreation room. All the other boys were relaxing around him in whatever empty spot they could find.

Tom wasn't there.

Neither was—Hermione.

Lestrange, reclined on the loveseat, raised an eyebrow at his candour.

"What? You're all thinking it, obviously."

"We might be thinking it but it doesn't do to voice opinions or misgiving about Tom's plans, Abraxas, does it?" Avery, who was playing chess with himself, commented dryly. "Besides, I have never known Tom to undertake a task in which there wasn't a reasonable chance of victory."

Abraxas pouted moodily. "It's never going to work. This is madness and you all know it. No matter how ingenious Tom is or how exceptionally he plans. This is Grindelawald we're talking about. "

Mulciber gulped down his cup of hot chocolate and shrugged. "If Tom says we can do it—then I believe we can."

"Besides," Lestrange leaned forward, "have you considered what we stand to gain just in case Tom pulls this off? I'd try this venture just for the gain, you know."

 _That is for sure_ , Abraxas thought and looked at each one of them.

Before long, Tom would have a plan ready and all of these snakes would be ready to strike, including himself. Of course, he counted himself as reasonably more reliable. As did Tom, he was sure of it.

And Herminoe.

There was something wrong with her. Her reaction to his joke had been uncharacteristic in the earnest. It was as if she had feared for her life if he did not return her bag. That didn't seem like her—and he was a very good judge of character.

Just then, the door that led to the central hall opened and Tom entered. "Having fun, boys?"

They all muttered something non-committal and Tom moved over to sit in an armchair next to Abraxas.

The silence was uncomfortable.

Tom coughed and drew their attention towards him. He looked fresh—almost as if they hadn't spent days in wilderness, moth bitten and nearly famished—and he had donned a freshly laundered pair of clothes. His hair was set in a careless way and yet it somehow lent charm to his face.

But his eyes.

Abraxas almost shuddered at the sparkle in his eyes.

That could not bode well for any of them.

"You know, it's good to see you all relaxed and comfortable after weeks of hard toil in the forest," he said and drew out a cigarette. "You can all rest for now, I suppose—and it would be a well earned too. A week from now, however, we shall put our plans into action and I need all the alertness and competence that you're capable of, and more."

 _Huh._

 _Royally fucked before time_.

"No offence, Tom, but what _is the plan_?" Abraxas asked. "I mean, you've got one, right—or are we simply planning to barge into Grindelwald's stronghold and ask him for a duel?"

Tom's grey eyes turned his way.

"You're extraordinarily annoying, Abraxas, do you know that?" he said gently. That was a warning and Abraxas was no fool. "But as to your question—yes, I do have a plan. A fantastic idea that has every chance of success. For reasons that I do not wish to divulge right now, I cannot apprise you of it yet. But rest assured, I have tasks for everyone—no more than you can handle, of course, and you will know of it in the course of this one week while we, ah, recuperate and assess our positions."

A strange glint crossed Lestrange's eyes. "What about Hermione? Isn't she in on this?"

Tom tilted his head, his features frozen into a mask of indifference but Abraxas knew better.

"She is an integral part of it all—in fact, without her, nothing could be done." He smiled lightly, flicking his cigarette so that some ashes fell on the carpet. "But she is not to know anything about our goals or motives. You will all be careful in this regard."

Abraxas frowned. "How are you going to get her to go along with us, your plans, if she doesn't even know anything? Pawns don't make good comrades."

Tom shrugged. "It's going to work if I say it will."

Abraxas didn't like the sound of it but he held his tongue.

More seconds passed. Avery played chess with himself while Lestrange was simply content to look at Tom's expressionless face. Mulciber didn't really care much about anything and was content enough to go along with Tom's directions.

Later, when they had all retired, Abraxas stayed back with Tom.

"This isn't right, Tom—whatever you're planning, I don't know how successful you'll be but it will be fucking dangerous and you know it. You have to tell her."

Tom puffed out an enormous smoke ring and gazed silently at the ceiling. "She will be perfectly safe—there is no need for her to know all this."

"How exactly are you going to use her?"

"That is for me to know and for you to find out."

Abraxas closed his eyes.

"When she finds out—whatever it is that you would make her do unknowingly—she'll hate you for it. She'll hate all of us" He drew a deep breath. "She's not like you and me."

"No, she isn't. But that's okay—because by the time she finds out, I would have won this part of the world." Tom chuckled. "Keep faith, my dear friend, and I will make you a king before long."

And despite himself, Abraxas found himself dreaming of unparalleled riches and limitless power. Tom had that effect of people. He could make you dream. And he could turn those dreams into reality if only you had faith.

Abraxas knew where his loyalties lay.

* * *

Its been long and I am so sorry. I will write and update faster from now on. I hope you liked this one.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

* * *

' _You will not believe the results of my experiment!'_

' _About time too, eh, Mione? You've been cooped up in your muggle lab-tree for a week now. Where's Harry?'_

" _He'll be along any time now. Oh, I seriously cannot believe I actually figured it out!"_

Her eyes snapped open, the haze in her brain fading.

She wished she could remember.

Hermione lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling overhead. The curtains in the window whipped in the wind and she shivered.

Her memories were right there at the back of his mind. They were locked and no matter how hard she tried they were always just out of reach.

She couldn't sleep.

" _This is useless."_

She sat up in bed. The manor was silent and the night felt watchful. Feeling a twinge of nervousness, she reached for her Arithmancy Cubes. They lay on her bedside table. The merest touch made her feel… calm.

 _I have no idea who I am. I have no idea why I am here. There are people out there who tried to kill us. They might try again._

She bit her lip.

 _No. No. I should be going back to London. I need to know who I am._

The last emotion was strong enough to arouse goosebumps on her arms.

Coming to a decision, she put on her dressing gown and left the room.

* * *

Abraxas sat on the floor, shooting bright sparks in the air. He couldn't sleep. And he did not fancy wandering around the manor, especially one owned by someone with as bad a reputation as Lestrange's family had. Oh sure, they had money, more than enough to buy his family ten times and several others but—no, it was best not to loiter around the house of a man whose ancestors had murdered to gain inheritance.

Tom didn't have a plan, he knew that much. He was 'playing it by the ear', as the muggles put it. He didn't know how he knew, but he trusted himself. And to a certain extent, he trusted Tom. But this was moving along blindly, in dark, hoping to find a door that they didn't even know existed.

And yet.

Tom was resourceful.

He knew that. And Tom was smart. He wouldn't go into something if there was no hope of getting out. He had to trust Tom. In the midst of nowhere, sitting alone in a dimly lit corridor, he let his fears get the better of him though.

He shot another green spark into the space and sighed. When he looked up, he saw Hermione standing at the end of the corridor. Her hair was dishevelled and she was barefoot. She looked distressed.

"What are you doing here?"

She started, as if she hadn't noticed him spread out in the middle of the corridor before, and shook her head.

"I couldn't sleep." She shrugged and folded her arms across her chest. "What about you?"

"I couldn't sleep either," he admitted and went back to staring at the wall in front of him. He felt her move and take a seat beside him, there on the dusty floor, and he felt less lonely for it.

"I was going to rouse Tom from his sleep, just to—talk. But if you're awake and you don't mind…"

He raised an eyebrow at her and shrugged indifferently.

 _Rouse Tom to talk?_ Right. He knew how that would go. His gaze swept her pale face briefly. She looked genuinely distressed. And who knew, going by how well Tom treated her, maybe he _would_ have woken up. Abraxas knew how important she was to Tom's plan and yet… his interest in her wasn't purely selfish—that was apparent even to others.

"Abraxas," she said after a while, "I want to go home. I was going to ask Tom but he's asleep and you're here. Where's the Portkey that would take us back to the Forbidden Forest? Isn't that what Tom said? Wasn't that why we left the main track? You must tell me, Abraxas, because I know that you know. Tom's hiding something from me and everyone else is aloof. What's wrong?"

 _Must tell her?_

 _Really,_ he snorted.

"I don't have to tell you anything, Hermione." He sneered but inwardly he was thinking fast. She was curious and smart. There had to be a way to throw her off course. Tom would expect him to.

She glared at him and crossed her arms again.

A long time passed.

"We were supposed to find a Portkey about two miles east of here," he lied. Yes, this would be good enough, even for Tom. "But as the housekeeper told us, it isn't there anymore. The civil war is taking its toll—perhaps Grindelwald's men destroyed it. Who knows? At least we're safe as long as we're in this house—it is Secret-kept."

He saw the confusion in her features, the calculation she made and he was relieved to find that she had not discerned his lie.

And yet, there was a strange, unsettling look in her eyes as she appraised him.

"How do I know you're not lying?"

"Why would I? I am stuck here as much as you are and believe me; no one wants to leave more than I do. It's my mother's birthday next week and I have never missed it. But now, it looks like I will," he said with such despondence that she almost looked at him with sympathy.

There was no hint of wind anywhere still she shivered.

"Why were you sitting here? I mean, there's a recreational room downstairs, isn't there?"

He frowned at her question.

"I don't trust this place." He wiped his forehead. "It has a dark history and the people who owned it weren't exactly the best sort… I am afraid there might be traps waiting for unwitting visitors."

She looked puzzled.

"I thought this manor belonged to Lestrange's relatives."

"Yeah, well. Lestrange's relatives are as bad as they come. His great-grandfather murdered his father and ten siblings so that the property and influence would pass down to him. He became the Lord of this manor. And his grandfather, poisoned his own brother when he was just a baby. Lestrange's uncle was, fortunately, the only son and he didn't have to kill anyone to get his inheritance but still—it's in the blood." He looked at her. She fumbled with something in the pocket of her dressing gown. "You'll stay away from him, won't you?"

She raised her eyebrows at him.

"Why do you care?"

"I don't."

He turned away from her.

There was a small wasp fluttering in the corner, drawn by the light no doubt, and he shot an angry spark at it. He missed.

"I am sorry you won't be there for you mother's birthday, Malfoy. You must miss her a lot."

That much, at least was true.

He did love his mother.

"Maybe you'll get to see her. Maybe we will find a way out. Soon."

He shrugged. "I doubt it."

He couldn't tell her why, of course, but he wouldn't turn away the warmth of her sympathy or the small light of her hope. These, at least, kept him away from looking at his own greed and desire.

"Tell me about her."

Her words surprised him. No one had asked about his mother before. They didn't care because his father was a lot more important. He was rich and had connections whereas his mother was an invalid, staying at home most of the times, grieving over her lost daughter.

"She—doesn't get around much." He almost choked in emotion, at the last memory of her. "She's not well."

She wasn't. The Healers did not expect her to see many years. And Abraxas was supposed to be with her when the time came. He had promised. But no. She wouldn't die. She wouldn't. Not before he made her proud of him. Not yet.

Hermione seemed to understand. And for some silly reason, she laid a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it slowly. He didn't flinch away. He didn't mind.

"She was beautiful, when she was young. Everyone admired her, everyone courted her. She was always gentle and kind." He closed his eyes. "After I was born, she fell ill… It was never the same afterwards. She never recovered."

"And your father?"

His jaw tightened.

"He's a busy man," he said curtly, and looked at her for any signs of mockery. Finding none, he drew a long breath. "He's away most of the time. So it's mostly just me checking on her every weekend."

She nodded and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes. There was distress and longing in her face, and if he was a good reader of character, something in his words had rattled her.

* * *

They had a lovely morning: sunny, bright and almost cheerful. If you didn't mention the air of mystery pervading the manor and its six denizens, discounting the invisible housekeeper of course. Tom had peeped in to invite her for breakfast but she had slept on, having stayed up for a long time, conversing with Malfoy.

When she woke up finally, in the middle of afternoon, she found that everyone had left premises to wander the vast grounds. Tom sat in the library, however, surrounded by a bunch of books and barely registered when she entered.

His face was scrunched up in concentration and his eyes moved rapidly from line to line. He gave her a smile when she coughed and she found herself thinking that his lips were made for wide, unguarded smiles.

"Finally, you're up," he said, raising his hand to her. She took it and sat down next to him.

"I am." Her gaze swept around the room. "And I am also ready to get my long awaited answers, Tom. I want to know everything and you had better not evade me this time. Tell me why we're here. Tell me what your original purpose was in coming to this place. And yes, I also want to know when we will return to Hogsmeade."

Her hands shook a little and she reached into her pocket for comfort, caressing the cubes. Earlier, she had simply thought it might be anxiety on her part which made her react so strongly to any separation from the cubes. But now—she wasn't so sure. Any connection to them immediately calmed her nerves. This wasn't natural. But she would think of this later; right now she had to concentrate on Tom.

A flash of irritation crossed Tom's face, as she looked closely, but soon he recovered and seemed to surrender to her will. Maybe she had disturbed him but she deserved to know.

"Well?"

He turned towards her, his grey eyes focused completely on her face, and he reached for her hand. She let him stroke it, feeling a gentle tingling run down her spine, but she didn't get distracted.

"I will tell you everything," he said quietly, and held her hand lightly. "I don't know, however, if you will believe my story. I'm afraid I have no proof for it—only hearsay from people and the like."

She bit her lip.

"If it were truth you told me, Tom, I'd believe you."

He removed his hand from her grasp and lowered his head, staring intently at a spot on the table.

"I told you before that I was left outside Wool's orphanage when I was a baby, did I not?" She nodded. "Well, like you asked me a long time ago, I wondered about my parents. I wondered what caused them to abandon me in such helpless state—I wondered and despaired and resented them for depriving me of everything—a family, the love of a mother, the security of a father—all I had was the grubby children in a dilapidated orphanage and a cruel proprietor."

There was no emotion in his eyes. He might as well have been a statue—only his lips moved. Hermione repressed a shudder. His words painted a grim picture in her head.

"And when I grew up, I searched. I followed every clue, I asked everyone I could—I even looked up muggle records for a hint of who my parents were. And one day, I chanced upon someone who did help me find my heritage," he said, twisting his words cruelly so that even Hermione could taste how bitter they must have felt in his mouth.

"I won't go into details, for it was a long and tedious journey, but suffice it to say that I found out my mother was a German woman." At this, he looked at her sharply, his direct gaze stung and she almost flinched. "I came to Germany to search for the man to whom she was related: Gregorovitch. I have my answers now, from him, and much good they have done to me."

He lowered his eyes—and Hermione's felt her heart break in anticipation for she knew that he could not have had good news—she swallowed and awaited his tale.

"Gregorovitch was her uncle, and my mother lived with him and her aunt after her parents passed away." He stood up and turned away from her so that only his back faced her. He was tense, as though he could barely utter the words that fell upon her ears in soft, sad tones. "She was—happy with him. She lived in peace, he said, until she befriended a young man called Gellert. They were engaged for a while but she broke it off and eloped with an English man."

 _Oh_. Hermione twisted in her seat. His words were heightening her discomfort. It was a personal story—she did not need to know. _Then why was he telling her_?

Because she had asked him.

Because she had asked him.

"Tom," she said. "You don't have to—tell me."

He whirled on his feet and caught her by surprise.

"But you asked to know—and here I am, telling you _everything_ I know," he said vehemently. He caught her hands in his and drew her to stand. "I'm not afraid to tell you all this, Hermione. So listen to my story—the wizard Gellert pursued my parents and murdered them. I was left alone, at the doorstep of an orphanage. Do you know who this wizard was, Hermione? _Do you?"_

She shook her head.

He looked haunted—the distant, red gleam in his silver eyes was out of place.

 _How could she doubt his story?_ It seemed to inflame him, burn his despair into rage.

"He is better known in today's world as Grindelwald, Hermione," he whispered and let go of her, slumping down in his chair and covered his face with his hands. "The same dark wizard who wreaks havoc all around us—he murdered my family."

Hermione's lips parted in astonishment. Of all the things she had expected, this was not it.

She had doubts, and so many questions—

' _I have no proof for my tale_ ', he had said.

She kept her mouth shut.

He was baring his heart to her, something she very much doubted he had ever done before. And the despondence in his face made her cringe.

She placed a hand on his shoulder.

He didn't look up.

"I am sorry."

He removed her hand and went to stand near the window.

"Don't be," he said. "If I could, I would avenge myself. But I lack the power and resource. And here we are, stuck in the midst of nowhere, without a Portkey or any other means of transport. Until we find that, we must exercise caution and be prepared. Please, Hermione, tell me that you will be prepared—tell me that you will learn better, work on yourself—tell me that you will survive. I will not have any of our group suffer for my heedless actions— "

His words were earnest and she saw in his eyes that he meant what he said. There was also a hint of guilt— _he must feel terrible for having led his group into such danger_.

 _It wasn't his fault_ , she thought. He _couldn't have known._

"I will," she found herself saying, not able to bring up the matter of her locked up memories. Not yet. She could not be so heartless. She would get them back. She would find where she belonged.

But not yet.

* * *

He stood in the balcony, gazing at the evening moon. She shivered as she stepped out.

He didn't turn her way or give any sign of having heard her.

She went and stood by him, quietly contemplating the horizon.

"You seem troubled," she said after a while.

He clicked his tongue and shifted the wineglass in his hand. She hadn't noticed this before but he always seemed to have a glass of wine with him nowadays. They had been there three days by then and their small group had settled comfortably. Tom, however, seemed to be on edge most of the time. She supposed she knew where it all came from—the knowledge about his parents' murder and the fact that Grindelwald would perhaps hunt him down as well if he knew of his identity—still, she wished he could be more self assured and calm.

His frazzled nerves kept her on her toes as well.

Also, she didn't feel well herself. Her memories felt like they were right within her grasp and yet she missed every time she reached for them. There was also this dark, ever present anxiety in her mind that kept her from relaxing or enjoying anyone's company. She reasoned that she might be distressed due to recent events but it didn't sit well with her. She had taken to carrying around her Arithmancy Cubes in her pocket, everywhere she went, and this admittedly did help her.

But it wasn't natural.

"Tom?" she asked again.

He sipped the golden liquid, his eyes affixed on the forest, and said, "I'm fine, Hermione. Weren't you with the others just now? I thought Malfoy challenged you to a game of chess."

She snorted. "As if he could win. Actually, I beat him five minutes into the game."

"Did you now?" He smirked and gave her his undivided attention. "Did you study the spells I listed out for you?"

She nodded. "I didn't practice them though. And the Elemental Charm was a little difficult to understand."

His attention was fixed on her pocket. "You have the cubes with you? Let's try some of them now."

She would have argued that she was too tired and that she _had_ been trying to figure out his spells all day but then she saw that glint of interest in his eyes and decided otherwise.

 _Anything to get him out of his gloom._

"Okay," she said. "But I get the first shot."

He responded by throwing the wineglass over his shoulder where it slowed down as soon as it neared the floor and landed gently.

He liked to show off.

He flicked his wrist and the pale wand landed in his hand.

He smiled at her in challenge.

"Ready to lose?"

Hermione felt incensed at his self assurance.

"In your dreams, Tom," she said, and without any warning, she threw her spell at him, bound in the trajectory of the flying Cubes, and yelled,

' _Fluctus!'_

Wave after wave of strong wind launched towards Tom, with speed enough to throw him off his feet, but he jumped away from the path and blocked her curse. Her cubes fell down on the floor with a rattle but she kept her eyes trained on him for any movement. She didn't need to hold the cubes in her hand to perform magic. In some twisted and strange way, they were linked to her. If she tried to use them from distance, she knew they would respond.

 _But Tom didn't know that, did he?_

" _Was that the best you could do, Hermione?_ Tut, tut." He clicked his tongue and tapped his chin. "I give you one open shot and you use ineffectual winds on me? What if I were your mortal enemy? What if I was going to kill you? Would you still be so benevolent in casting magic?"

He did have a point there. She hadn't even considered using one of the darker curses he had taught her... But she wasn't done yet. And he didn't know that she could control Arithmancy Cubes from distance.

"As matters stand now, you would be dead if this were a real duel—wouldn't you?" He was still mocking her, that odd glint of mania and passion taking turns to settle in his eyes. With a solemn face, he raised his wand, never taking his eyes off her.

' _Flamma Mortem_!' he whispered and she thought she must have misheard him.

 _He wouldn't—no no no no…!_

A bright burst of orange light streaked towards her as she stood stunned, knowing that she didn't have enough time or knowledge to stop the curse. It was flame death.

She snapped her fingers and reached for the cubes—the magic was there but she didn't know how to use it. Hastily, she threw up the strongest shield she knew and lunged aside, behind a pillar.

Tom's curse crashed into the railing behind her and blew off the entire side part. The curse hadn't hit her but if she hadn't put up her shield, the heat from the curse would have liquefied her skin.

She couldn't believe that Tom would attack her like that—not with—she gulped and tried to stand up, her heart thudding violently in her chest.

The sound of Tom's footsteps nearing her made her swear. She clenched her fist.

"Are you alright?" He sat on haunches and touched her shoulder. "I _thought_ you would be able to use your magic without holding the cubes in hand. You did rather well; the shield was strong."

Hermione looked at him with narrowed eyes.

" _You jerk_ ," she bit out. " _How dare you use that curse on me?_ It would have killed me if I hadn't jumped aside. _Get away from me_!" She tried to jump away from him but he caught her by hand.

She was furious enough to try punching him. Using all the pent up anger that she felt in the moment, she drew her fist back to punch his face but he caught her, a hint of steel shining rather prominently in his grey eyes.

"Calm down," he murmured quietly and used his arms to trap her against his chest, taking care that she couldn't use her legs to kick him. "You must trust me more than that, Hermione. That curse would never have hit you—didn't you _see_ how I didn't target it to you? Didn't you see that once you jumped aside, it didn't _follow_ you? _Didn't you_? I only used that curse to show you the seriousness of my intentions and the gravity of the dangers we are facing—you cannot be gentle, you cannot be kind."

His last words were harshly intoned. She was still struggling against him and she was definitely angry enough to try and punch him again.

She couldn't see his face, trapped as she was against him, but she took a deep breath.

The rage wouldn't die.

"If that's how it is, Tom, then let me try again," she said quietly, far more softly than how she felt. She didn't like the fact that he had use the Flame Death curse on her. "Let me show you how serious _I_ can be."

No matter what excuse, it wasn't justified. Maybe it made sense to him, somehow, but she still felt incensed. If he really wanted to know what she could do, he would see it.

He didn't release her immediately, however. He drew closer to her ear and crooned softly. "I'm sorry if I hurt you. That was farthest from my intentions. You must know this." And before she could reply, he drew back ten steps and stood to face her. "I will leave my wand here on the floor. Use any curse you like, Hermione—perhaps that will help assuage you temper."

And with that, he waited for her.

She snapped her fingers and the cubes landed in her hand.

She was getting good at handling them. It was almost as if they were a part of her. Perhaps that was where the anxiety came from.

She looked into his eyes—eyes that were fathomless and watching.

She steeled herself.

' _Crispum_!'

It was a whispered curse. She watched as dark tendrils erupted from the ground, snapping at Tom's feet, trying to drag him down into the floor that didn't yield.

He stood there, watching her, and raised an eyebrow, as if to ask if that was really all she wanted to do.

She clenched her fist and fired the darkest curse she knew at him—

 _'Tenebrosa aqua!'_

It shot towards him like a jet of water and she could see that he was surprised as well as pleased at her choice. But the next moment horrified her. He made no move to step aside or block or dodge or anything… He just stood there, watching her with his arms folded across his chest.

It was going to hit him.

She couldn't stop it.

 _It was going to hit him_.

She watched horrified as the curse almost crashed into him.

 _Oh no oh no oh no. She couldnt look nonononnono_!

 _Stupid her—how could she have used that curse when he was defenceless?!_ She would never forgive herself if something happened to him because of her. He was the only static in her changing world—the only one she could trust.

 _No!_

But her curse did not make impact. At the last moment, he raised his hand and moved his fingers in an intricate manner.

Hermione felt a sudden jolt in her stomach and was pulled to the floor with a strong wrench.

She whimpered in pain.

When she looked up, she saw Tom standing unharmed.

"How?" she asked, still feeling the wrench of pain in her gut, but relieved at the same time to see him intact. _But what had caused her to fall on her knees?_

He smiled that twisted, lovely smile of his and drew her to stand.

"Magic tricks?"

She swallowed.

 _He was fine._

 _He was there._

 _He was fine_.

"I'm sorry, Tom—Id didn't think—I couldn't-I shouldn't have-you could have died and it would all have been my fault!"

Her words amused him.

"Yes, but didn't you use that curse _after_ I flung something equally potent at you?" He chuckled lightly. "I think we're even."

She bit her lip and stared at his face—his eyes that saw the world in a different light; his nose that was proud and arrogant at the same time and his lips that were made for wide smiles—and distressed and incensed as she was, everything fell away in the moment.

"Now if you're quite done being angry at me, I think we should repair that." He pointed at the balcony. "It would be poor payment for all the hospitality we have received. And after this, we'll raid the finest wine collection I have ever seen."

* * *

"You're right—this wine is heavenly," Hermione said and sipped her glass. Tom sat with her in a corner of the drawing room. Everyone was busy. Malfoy was trying to beat Avery but failing quite consistently, his curses grew louder and more creative each time. Lestrange sat in an armchair with a book and Mulciber was snoring with a large bowl of fruit in his lap.

No one paid them any attention.

Tom watched her flushed face, the way her brown eyes sparkled from exertion and the soft glow of red in her cheeks. She had healed. And she was here.

She had progressed into everything he had hoped for her. And more.

"I told you." He shrugged, watching her quietly. "You did very well today, you know… I especially admired the efficacy of that shield you threw up."

"Well, thanks. But you were still wrong to use that curse."

 _She was still miffed._

Even if she hadn't managed to do something in time, Tom had been ready. He had had the counter curse crackling at his fingertips when she had dodged and defended.

 _Yes, she would be just fine_.

After all, without her, he couldn't do any of this.

"Your moral compass is right off track, isn't it?" she said, swirling the golden liquid in her glass. "I mean I get your reasons but I do not understand the motivations. If I were an enemy, would you use it on me, tom? Would you consciously be ready to kill, even in defence?"

She was beginning to understand him, wasn't she? But only because he allowed it. Those chinks in his armour had to show—to make her ready, to make her worth it all.

"Yes." He looked at her without blinking. "I would."

There was something calculating in her gaze but she seemed to come to a decision and took another sip of wine.

She was still carrying the Cubes on her person, he could tell. The persistent hum of power emanating from them was too strong, too close.

At least it kept her from slipping into madness or rage, which she would surely do if they weren't close to her at all times. He could see that she was succumbing. And he would need to get this job done as soon as possible so that the healing process could begin.

She would heal.

He would make sure.

"You managed to use the Arithmancy Cubes even from afar," he commented, trying to draw her attention. "Not many wizards could do the same even with their wands, you know."

"You managed."

"Well, I am special, aren't I?"

She smiled at that.

"There's great power associated with them. You're very accomplished, Hermione"

She stared at him.

"With great power comes great responsibility."

"Rubbish. There's only power and those too weak to seek it." He leaned towards her. "And you, Hermione, are not weak."

She shivered.

"So what do you do when you've attained all the power you can?"

"Do?"

"Yes, I mean—what's the use?" She rested her chin on the glass. "What would you do, Tom, if you had all the power in the world?"

Now it was his turn to stare at her.

 _Did she know?_

She couldn't.

"I would found my own kingdom," he said, leaning back against the wall, staring at the chandelier. "I would conquer all the lands—I would write the destiny of every nation. I would d wage wars; I would overhaul the entire system of administration and create a new world. Mankind would look at me and celebrate their despair."

"Yes, but what would be the point?" She frowned. "Think about it—after a certain level, money, influence, power—everything ceases to be of value. What would you do after you did all the things you just mentioned? Who would you become after you gain absolute and unchallenged hegemony?"

He turned towards her.

He didn't know.

He hadn't quite—thought so far.

A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"You don't know, do you?"

He didn't answer her.

Her question had made him uneasy.

A forgotten line from a muggle history book came to the forefront of his mind.

"Alexander wept because he had no more worlds to conquer…" he echoed the forgotten author. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Exactly."

He closed his eyes and finished the rest of his wine.

He felt her hand on his shoulder and saw concern shining in her face.

"You okay?"

He wanted to hold her hand and kiss her again, like he had the other night, and forget, forget everything that terrified him—his dark ambitions, his dead mother trailing his every step and this girl whose ideas and insights made him rethink his standpoint-he needed to be alone.

 _Yes_.

"I'm fine," he said, swallowing. "I'll go sleep now."

* * *

 **Hello people! I am back and yes I will finish this story and the others too. Sorry for the hiatus, there really is no excuse.**

 **Next update, things will get a lot more heated up between Tom and Hermione. I promise you it will be good.**

 **Lemme know if you like the chapter, and any questions you might have, I'll answer in the next post or PM me.**

 **I seriously hope someone is still reading this :)**

 **Until next time, Happy reading.**


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